Trial By Fire
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: Draco lifted his head and swallowed a scream. Shards of memory danced through his mind. His car was nestled against a dented guardrail, the remnants of his shattered headlights dusting the blacktop. And outside, the sky wept soot.
1. Chapter One The Road to Nowhere

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of J.K. Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter One The Road to Nowhere**

Draco Malfoy cursed when he heard the sirens and saw the red and blue lights flash in his rear-view mirror. With the rain pattering like a dozen demons on his windshield, he flicked on his wipers and pulled over onto the shoulder. The unforgiving rigidness of the driver's seat dug into his aching shoulder blades. The damp air made his fingertips ache and his palms slipped forward on the wheel. He tilted his head to the side and cracked his neck.

The Muggle law officer inched the squad car right behind Draco's and threw open the door with an arrogant thrust.

Draco eyed the suspiciously heavy belt strapped to the officer's waist, his gaze coming to rest on the black butt of the gun.

He still wasn't quite accustomed to the plebian ways of Muggles, especially their rather slapdash method of keeping order. Hit Wizards had always seemed more effective to him. They usually apparated on scene, cast a body-binding curse on the suspect and sent the unfortunate soul back to the Ministry for processing by way of a Portkey.

It was quick, efficient and merciless.

These clumsy Muggle "police" could learn a thing or two from their betters.

Nevertheless, Draco rolled down his window, hoping that he hadn't inadvertently broken some asinine law. After all, he still wasn't too confident about this driving business.

The officer slapped a gloved hand on the roof of the car.

"License and registration."

For a moment, Draco froze. License? He then remembered the plastic card the representative at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement had provided him with. It was in his stiff, new wallet, nestled next to his passport and visa.

"Here."

The officer took the card and examined it, eyes hidden behind wide sunglasses.

It took Draco a minute to realize the cop was a woman. He could just glimpse the feminine features beneath her blue hat and glasses.

"Mr. Malfoy?" she grunted.

"Yes." Draco squirmed in his seat, the belt cutting into his neck. The Ministry hadn't allowed him to take a pseudonym. Acting Minister Shacklebolt insisted that he stick to his identity in the States, for his explicit safety, of course. But Draco knew it was just their way of keeping tabs on him. If he had avoided going to Azkaban, then exile in America would have to do.

The cop returned his license. "Where are you headed tonight, Mr. Malfoy?" She put both hands on his open window, leaving ugly prints on the glass.

"Home," he said hopelessly. "I'm renting a house in Brahms County for the year."

The words were unpleasant against his refined pallet. Home. No, home was in England. Home was Malfoy Manor, confiscated by the Ministry and gutted in their search for the Dark Lord's secrets.

His mother and father had gone to France. But the Ministry saw fit to separate them and Draco went to Brahms County, West Virginia instead.

"You're a bit lost then," the cop replied. "This road doesn't run through Brahms. In fact, it doesn't run through anywhere." She ducked her head just inside the window. "But you wouldn't know that, would you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco could feel the weight of his wand burning through his jeans' pocket. Oh, it would take one hex, just one hex to send the cop flying across the highway and down the muddy embankment on the other side. But then he remembered the charm the Aurors had put on his wand. If he cast an unfriendly spell, they would know.

"I'm new in town," he said simply.

"I can see that. Step out of the car."

What now? The entire procedure was foreign to Draco, a pantomime's play meant to degrade and drown him in his disillusionment.

He climbed out of the car, humiliation bowing his head and shoulders until he felt as tall as a house elf.

"Face the car, hands on the hood, legs apart."

Draco complied, still mystified. And he nearly jumped out of his skin when the cop began to pat him down.

"What are you doing?" He couldn't keep the derision from his voice.

"Do you have any weapons on you?"

"What…no, no. Can you tell me what's going on?"

The cop sighed, her hands skimming his torso. "This road we're on isn't much used anymore. It runs through a town called Silent Hill. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"No." Draco replied flatly.

"It's abandoned, has been for the past thirty years since a fire started in the coal mines below. The only people that go up there nowadays are looking for trouble."

Her hand neared his pant's pocket and before Draco could stop her, she had extracted his wand.

"Interesting," she muttered, placing it on the roof of the car.

It twitched feebly.

Draco hung his head in disgust.

He bet Potter and his friends were having a grand laugh now, back in Britain what with their Orders of Merlin First Class and laurels and worshipful throngs of Mudbloods and traitors.

The egregious insult might have been easier to swallow if Draco didn't have the memory of his trial to haunt him. Potter had spoken on his behalf. Had stood up in front of the Wizengamot and a score of Daily Prophet reporters and defended him.

And Draco knew then that he would always be indebted to his rival and that thought alone was enough to drive him mad.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. Have a seat right here." The cop indicated his front bumper.

Draco folded his arms tightly across his jumper and leaned against the hood. Rain flattened his already sweaty hair.

"Since I didn't find any narcotics on you, I'm letting you off with a warning this time." She hooked her thumbs in her belt, tilting her head forward just enough so she could see over her glasses.

Draco didn't care for the look in her eyes. Stern, he thought, somewhat like old McGonagall when she was giving out detentions.

"Narcotics?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"Drugs," the cop said, "there's heavy trafficking in this area. Now I'm thinking it's best you get back in your car and turn right around. I don't know how things are done in England, but here in Brahms, we're tough on illegal substances."

Draco honestly had no idea what she meant. He vaguely remembered Snape giving a lecture on unstable potions that were illegal in Great Britain, but he doubted the stupid cop would know anything about that.

Perhaps she was talking about hallucinogenics. He had heard that Muggles, desperate to escape their dreary existence, would ingest powders or plants to induce a delirious state. Though why anyone would waste time on delusions, he couldn't say.

But obviously, this cop meant business. Draco's wounded pride begged him to set her straight. Reason, however, told him to comply.

"Okay," he mumbled. "I understand."

She seemed satisfied, half-turning and looking back at her squad car. But then she lifted a long arm and snatched up his wand.

Reflex tightened Draco's muscles. He was ready lunge, to knock it out of her hands. But then she'd get suspicious and then he'd be stuck here on the muddy road even longer.

A gust of wind rippled the fir trees. Draco smelled pine needles and he was reminded of the great garden bordering Malfoy Manor. It had always been a place of comfort, of security…until the Dark Lord and his minions moved in and turned his home into a mockery.

Draco closed his eyes and inhaled. He tried to forget that he was standing there, that some brainless Muggle was fingering his wand with her greasy gloves. And slowly, steadily, his fury dripped away.

"What is this?" the cop grunted. "Yew?"

"Hawthorn," Draco said quickly.

The officer's eyebrows jumped closer to her hairline.

"I'm an artist." He made a carving motion with his hands. "You know, a sculptor. My medium is wood."

"Whatever." She handed his wand back. "Drive safely and stay off this road."

And then it was over.

Draco jumped back into the driver's seat and waited until the squad car had disappeared over the brow of a low hill. Then he laid his head against the steering wheel, cursing Potter, the Ministry and every single Muggle and Mudblood.

But the trees about him whispered and he could only think of home and how precious it truly was.

And now, yes now, he was alone.

After a solid ten minutes, he put the car in drive and rumbled over the hill. Around the bend, he saw the squad car nestled between the firs, waiting for another speeder or otherwise unlucky motorist.

Draco slowed down ever so slightly, his right hand leaving the wheel and gripping his wand. At once he felt the magic rush to his fingertips and drunk with impulsion, he raised it to shoulder height.

The squad car's back tire went flat.

Draco quickly stuffed his wand back into his jeans, knowing that even now, the Ministry had detected his hex and an owl had been dispatched to his rented house.

"Fuck it," he growled, flooring the gas pedal and speeding off into the grey twilight.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for taking the time to read the first chapter of "Trial by Fire". As some of you might have already noticed, this story is a Silent Hill/HP crossover, though you needn't have any knowledge of the former to understand the plot.

Any and all feedback will be cherished. Have a great week!


	2. Chapter Two The Loner

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of J.K. Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Two The Loner**

Draco didn't want to go back to that damp, drafty lakeside cottage with the rotted wooden porch that he was renting. The Ministry's owl could wait and he couldn't stand another reminder of his complete solitude. At least Mother and Father had a chateau in France.

He drove his non-descript '95 Honda through the cramped town of Brahms and parked in front of the pub. There, he sat on the back bumper and smoked a fag. The gutter was slick with rain, the narrow sidewalks crowded with a few tourists and passing groups of teenagers. This was the Muggle side of Brahms and Draco knew that just beneath the sedate exterior rested an even more sedate wizarding community.

He'd popped into the only store, an inn with a adjoining room selling general magical items, his first day in town. Tired and still drained from his experiences in New York, Draco hadn't found much of a welcome amongst the toothless old wizards that called the place home. They didn't seem to like outsiders or perhaps they had heard that he was a former Death-Eater. All of the Dark Lord's acquitted supporters were required to register with Magical Law Enforcement and Draco had had to transfer his information over in New York City, much to his distress.

Either way, he hadn't much cause to mingle and make friends. And he hadn't the stomach to answer any more questions. Draco would rather live the life of a loner than be ostracized. Being a recluse, at least, lent a bit of mystery to one's self, as he had learned the moment he entered the Muggle half of Brahms.

It reminded him of the many hamlets in England, without, perhaps, any drop of charm. There was a main street, of course, lined with storefronts that dated back to the 30s and 40s. The police station and town hall framed an unremarkable village square. The brazen local youth tended to congregate there on the stone benches and drink cheap vodka in the middle of the night.

In the quieter nooks of the town, Draco got a whiff hopeful tourism. Toluca Lake, a few miles from Brahms boasted at least one thriving resort.

Surprisingly, Draco found the Muggles to be more inviting than his own kind. The old lady at the grocery store had invited him to a church picnic and the kids lounging around the green asked him to "hang" with them.

And even though he refused any offer to socialize, Draco knew that the Muggles were clueless when it came to his past and like a coward, he hid himself among them, as if hoping to erase the permanent stain branded on his soul. They wouldn't ask why he couldn't Apparate within five miles of the town or why he was required to check-in with the authorities if he needed to leave the state.

Now Draco was glad that he had learned to drive in England and had taken the Ministry's proffered "Adjustment to Muggle Habits" class, as mortifying as both experiences had been.

It was easier to fit in with Muggles, much to his disgust.

Draco flicked the fag into the gutter and turned towards the pub. A radio belched an unpleasantly shrill song out into the street and he pushed the glass door inwards with his shoulder.

Low-backed stools sat empty along the counter. He threw himself down in one near the door and waited for the waitress to take his order.

If possible, she looked even more pathetic than him, a sad young woman with thoughtful brown eyes mirroring fear and wariness. When she spoke, her voice was a smooth whisper, one that made Draco wish for simple things and more innocent times.

"What'll you have?" She tossed her blonde hair, the texture of straw, over one shoulder.

"A beer." He really wanted a firewhiskey or a sip of the wine his father kept down in their cool, stone cellar beneath the house.

The woman slid a brown bottle towards him and flipped off the cap with a opener she kept clipped to her belt.

Draco watched as the murky liquid foamed over and formed a thumb-sized puddle on the dark wood bar.

He took a swig, grimaced and rolled the cool bottle between his palms.

"Are you here on vacation?" the waitress asked. The pub was empty and she evidently felt obliged to make conversation.

"Not exactly." Draco swallowed another mouthful and exhaled sharply through his pointed nose.

"Ah well, these are on the house anyway." She dumped a bowl of peanuts next to his elbow.

Draco nodded his thanks.

Fortunately, a couple came through the door then and the waitress went to get their orders.

Alone again, Draco rolled up the sleeves of his burgundy jumper, his eyes trailing to the faded blot pressed into his right forearm. His Dark Mark wasn't quite as strong as it had been the day of his trial, when the Wizaengamot had ordered him to hold his arm aloft for all to see and the crowd glared at that ugly black serpent and skull.

The Daily Prophet reporters had snapped dozens of photos.

But the worst picture of all was the one they had plastered on the front page. Him shaking hands with Potter. The mighty hero proved to be as noble as he was brave.

Draco felt his hands tightening around the slippery bottle.

It wasn't fair. None of it was.

He'd heard that Mudblood Granger had gone back to Hogwarts to complete her studies. And almost all of the Weasley litter were awarded Orders of Merlin.

Crabbe's family had been obliterated by the War. And Draco's barely existed at all.

The Ministry was trying to white-wash things, trying to make it look as if the War had never happened. As always, they forgot to mention the families that had been pressed into the Dark Lord's service. The families that had yearned for an ideal and then, finding themselves in too deep, could no longer escape.

For two years Draco had been drowning and even as his feet scraped the rocks below, he could not kick himself back to the surface.

The maelstrom had been just that powerful, just that relentless and unforgiving…

"Excuse me. You're not eating those, right?"

A woman leaned against the stool beside him and tapped the bowl of peanuts.

Draco lifted his grey eyes. "No."

She smiled what he reckoned was a flirtatious greeting and dropped her elbows onto the bar.

"Are you sure? I mean, you don't mind, right?" Her clothes were ridiculous looking, a constricting pair of jeans and a sloppy pink tank-top. She had red polish on her nails and her sandy hair up in a bun.

Draco thought that everything about the woman looked contrived. Right down to her plastic, gold and white purse.

She slipped her feet in and out of a pair of brown sandals.

He pushed the dish closer to the woman, if only to chase her away. "No, I don't mind. Go ahead."

"Alright, but you let me know if you want them back." She pushed herself up and back from the bar, scooping up the dish and tripping back to her table…and boyfriend.

Draco exchanged tense looks with the bloke, a thinly muscled man who had a jaw of stubble and a blue cap on.

_No worries_, he thought as he turned back to his drink. _The bird is almost as bad as that cop_. And he grinned a little at his own predicament. Maybe someday, he'd be able to look back on this from within the confines of Malfoy Manor and laugh.

Some lot of time passed. Draco took sparing sips from the bottle, unable to adjust to the stout taste. Behind him, he heard a chair scrape against the floor and heavy footsteps echo to the back of the pub.

He kept his eyes bent on his bottle and didn't look up until he heard the drawn-out yowl of the Muggle woman.

"Hey," she called to him from her table. Her boyfriend was notably absent. "Hey, are you from Ireland?"

"England," he said, glancing once over his shoulder.

"Oh my God, I've always wanted to go to London. What's it like? Have you ever been to the Eiffel Tower?"

"I believe that's in France."

The woman rose and hurried back over to him. "Are you, like, an exchange student or something? Because no one ever comes to boring old Brahms, _seriously_. At least, I never would if I was from England."

Draco waited a beat before replying. "I'm not a student, I live here. Well…I've just moved, that is to say."

"_Really!"_ she squealed and suddenly her hand dropped down onto his knee. "That's just-"

Her boyfriend returned from the bathroom.

The woman scampered off as her companion's face reddened and he took two powerful strides towards them.

Draco half-rose, only to find the man towering over him, large hands braced on the back of his stool and the counter, trapping him.

"What's your problem, man?" he barked, his breath hot and stinking in Draco's face.

"Excuse me?" Draco replied, lifting a surprised eyebrow. He shifted and in his pocket, he felt his wand bump against his leg. "I don't know what you're-"

"You've been eyeing my girlfriend all night."

Draco snorted derisively.

"Eddie, please," the woman said.

The man shot her a baleful look. "Stay out of this, Brenda."

"Listen." Draco raised one of his hands, the other hovering near his pocket. "I want nothing to do with you or your girlfriend. Back off."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Draco looked him straight in the eye, his jaw set.

Eddie didn't back down. "You're saying my girlfriend was all over you then? Is that what you're saying?"

"As a matter of fact," Draco began, but was cut off as a fist soared his way.

He ducked, his bottle flying off the counter and shattering on the floor. Spilled beer drenched his trainers.

Without thinking, he reached for his wand and screamed, "_Furnunculus!" _

Eddie reeled backwards, his hands grasping his face, which was now covered in boils.

Brenda screamed.

"What the fuck?" Eddie bellowed, his skin the color of a rhinoceros's hide.

Draco let a satisfied smile curl his lips, forgetting, for a minute, that the Ministry would be on to him already.

"Asshole!" Eddie recovered rather quickly, hurtling towards his assailant with furious strength.

This time, Draco wasn't quite so lucky. Eddie's weight brought them both to floor, the stool clattering onto its side as they tumbled about. A right hook to the jaw left Draco stunned. He fought to free his wand arm.

"_Impedimenta!"_

This time, Eddie flew up, crashing into the counter, his long arm toppling yet another stool.

The waitress rushed towards them, stopping a few fearful feet away with her hands over her mouth.

"He attacked my boyfriend!" Brenda screamed, pointing at Draco. "He attacked-"

Draco pointed his wand at her. "_Langlock!"_

She made a choking nose and frantically tried to claw at her tongue now glued to the top of her mouth.

Draco felt a lurch of panic, realizing exactly what he had done. He glanced once at the terrified waitress and then barreled out into the street.

Eddie's enraged cries followed him to the gutter. "Jesus Christ, somebody call the cops!"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review so far. Your support means the world to me.

Please leave a review. Any and all feedback is tremendously helpful. Have a great week!


	3. Chapter Three Officer Bennett

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Three Officer Bennett**

Officer Cybil Bennett had had a long day.

Not that that was unusual for her because the small town of Brahms was surprisingly rife with crime, not to mention the new waves of tourists that brought all their sick problems to Toluca County.

Cybil rested her elbow against the window and watched the traffic light above glare red. It was the end of her shift. Long, dusky shadows inched up and down the road.

God, she _was_ tired. A futile shake of her coffee cup told her it was empty, and she resorted to her water bottle instead, taking a long slug before the light flashed green again.

Her squad car jerked forward and rolled down the road towards the stationhouse.

Cybil stiffened in her seat, stretching her aching arms out before her on the steering wheel.

The day wasn't over yet, either. She still had paperwork to do, perhaps the most tedious part of police work. Sure, they made the job look cool and exciting and dangerous on TV, though in actuality, it was just plain dangerous.

Nevertheless, Cybil knew she wouldn't have it any other way.

This was her life.

Three blocks from the stationhouse her radio crackled to life, the mutilated voice of the dispatcher croaking out another call.

"We got a bar fight over in town. The suspect fled in his vehicle. Male. 5'8". Blond hair, light complexion, wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans. Last seen driving a '95 Blue Honda with West Virginia plates. Number 217..."

Cybil listened intently as the dispatcher rattled off the rest of the number, her gut squirming a little as she recognized the plates.

Jesus, she'd pulled that guy over this afternoon. The British kid. He was one of four traffic stops she had made that day, the last one, actually, before she was forced to ride into town and get her back tire changed.

Well, she'd known he was up to no good. That kid was too damn twitchy. Nervous. He hadn't had any drugs on him at the time, but that surely didn't mean he wasn't _on_ anything.

Cybil pressed the button on her radio and held it up to her lips. "10-4." With a sudden sense of thrill, she made a left at the fork in the road and pulled back onto the highway.

If anyone was going to catch this kid, it'd be her.

A light sort of rain had begun to fall, just a drizzle really, but enough to leave the pavement slick and shining.

Cybil flicked on her headlights and watched their reflection skim the blacktop. Thick clusters of pine trees hemmed the highway, blocking out any sign of the town and, in essence, life itself.

A sliver of moon punctured the clouds like a white horn. Cybil eased her foot down on the brake, feeling the tires slipping on the tar. A double yellow line spilt the highway into two lanes.

There was no traffic tonight. None.

Cybil's heart beat fiercely beneath the bulk of her Kevlar vest. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so tired as before and a hint of adrenaline pulsed intoxicatingly through her veins.

Of course, Mom would be worried if she didn't call her back at the stationhouse like she always did. Nothing Cybil did allayed her fears. She was an only child and a widow's child to boot. Mom couldn't help it if she was overprotective, although her unfounded anxiety nibbled at Cybil's nerves.

She was fine, _really_.

And she loved being a cop.

Sure, she could've gone off to college like most of her friends. Or she might've even gotten married and settled down with 2.3 kids and a white picket fence.

But ugh, even now, in the sleek confines of the squad car, the idea repulsed her.

So what if she was a cop in a hick town?

Dad would be proud of her, at least, that she was sure of.

After cruising the highway for fifteen minutes, Cybil circled back and exited into a residential area on the outskirts of Brahms. The streets were deserted for the most part, and the steadily increasing rain had driven all but a few of the bike-riding teens in for the night.

Cybil was disappointed, her determination creeping up her spine in the form of an excited tingle. The punk _had_ to be around here somewhere.

This time she drove straight through Brahms, circling the town square twice.

Nothing.

God, the kid couldn't have disappeared already, although he clearly wasn't anywhere near Brahms, unless…

The nervous tingle touching her back turned into a shiver. Cybil bit down on her lip hard and took another drink from her water bottle.

If the kid wasn't in Brahms, then he could only be in one other place.

She slumped against the seat, wondering if perhaps she _should_ head back to the stationhouse and let some other officer handle it. After all, her shift was over by now and she had enough paperwork awaiting her.

But no, if anyone was going to catch this kid, it would be her. Yes, it would be _her. _

Once more, Cybil turned back onto the highway, and this time she took the road to the only other town in the county. Silent Hill.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was an idiot. A senseless, bumbling idiot who couldn't keep his temper or wand in check at the worst moment possible. And now he was peeling out of Brahms, torso hunched over the slippery steering wheel as he drove his ungainly Muggle car away, away…anywhere.

Not back to the cottage he was renting. Not back to Brahms. And certainly not back to England.

He wondered vaguely how long it would take the Ministry to find them. An hour? A day? Maybe even a week?

Would two discreet Aurors Apparate onto the road before him, raise their wands and cast a body-binding curse that would once more leave him prone and helpless? Would they haul him all the way back to London to stand before the Wizengamot and stumble over his words of defense like a wretch? And would they throw him straight into Azkaban for violating his vow of good behavior, for using magic to protect himself from some ape of a Muggle?

None of it was fair. None of it. This…this wasn't fair that he, a _Malfoy_, should be careening down a pitch black highway between toothed fir trees and beneath a moon that mocked him from behind a sheer veil of rain clouds.

With trembling fingers, he flipped on his wipers. There was a rumble of summertime thunder in the distance and rivulets of opaque water snaked along the windshield.

The car's tires scrapped furiously on the wet blacktop.

Draco lifted his hand from the wheel and angrily swiped the sweat from his brow.

What was he going to do? Should he ditch the car and resort to Apparition instead? But then the Ministry would be able to track him, and he remembered the stern warning he had received from the Auror handling his case.

"Don't underestimate us," he'd said, sitting at his desk in the Auror Office and using his trunk of an arm to indicate the whole of the Ministry. "For everything you see and hear, there's something you don't."

A snarl curled Draco's lips. And what great sin had he committed to warrant such surveillance? Why was _he_ to blame?

Unconsciously, his foot began to bear down on the gas pedal. The car sped up, skidding slightly, the rain and wind forming a tunnel about him in which each gust was a shriek and the drizzle became a downpour.

_Fuck Potter and his Mudblood friends. Fuck them all. _

His fury sent magic straight to his fingertips, singeing the delicate flesh beneath his nail.

_Just wait. Yes, just wait. One day…one day I'll…._

A horrendous, pitiful wail pierced Draco's rage. He glanced up at his rearview mirror and saw--_please, no-_-a Muggle cop car.

_Not again_.

The lights flashed in some horrific display of bravado, and in the pit of his stomach, Draco felt fear leap to life, curdling his gut like acid.

He was trapped.

_Not again_.

_No, not again._

Squeezing his eyes shut for the briefest instant, Draco floored the accelerator and sped off into the night.

The cop car followed.

Knuckles white, he clenched the wheel.

_Please, someone help me._

_

* * *

_

She was right. Cybil knew she'd be right.

Five minutes after pulling onto the branch of highway that led to Silent Hill, she had spotted the blue Honda with the corresponding license plates.

The kid was heading straight for Silent Hill, probably hoping to hide his sorry ass in one of the abandoned buildings where he'd light up a joint and laugh at the pig who had pulled him over earlier.

No one hardly ever went up there anymore except for petty dealers or users trying to score a quick hit. And there'd been some problems in recent years with curious teenagers and ghost hunters who thought the idea of a an old, burnt out town was a hoot.

What they didn't know, however, was that the same underground coal fires that had killed half the population and driven out the rest thirty years ago were still burning and just as dangerous.

Cybil herself had been called up to Silent Hill two years ago when a group of high schoolers became trapped and disorientated in the town. The experience wasn't a pleasant one, and for nearly three hours, she'd wandered the deserted streets, shining her flashlight into shadowed storefronts, half-expecting Freddy Krueger or Jason to pop out with a chainsaw. In the end, she found the teens alive and well by the movie theater, though one girl was sent to the hospital for carbon monoxide poisoning.

Most people nowadays said Silent Hill was haunted, and although Cybil didn't believe in all that paranormal crap, she'd sure been creeped out by the place.

It was downright ugly.

As soon as she caught sight of the Honda, Cybil flicked on her lights and sirens and called it in.

But when she motioned for the driver to pull onto the shoulder, the car in front of her took off like a bullet.

"Shit." Cybil lifted her radio to her lips once more. "Wait, he's running from me. I'm gonna need back-up, he's heading southbound on highway five to Silent Hill. I need back-up."

Cybil felt her face flush and her limbs loosened with excitement. This was it. She had this kid.

The Honda up ahead squealed around the bend in the road, sending up a stream of water straight into her windshield.

Teeth gritted, Cybil got on the loudspeaker.

"Pull over!" she barked, her voice sounding metallic and distant as the wind carried it away. "Pull over now!"

The Honda didn't stop.

* * *

For the first time in nearly a year, Draco felt panic hit him with all the force of a hurricane. The Muggle cop was closing in, the headlights reflected in his rearview mirror, blinding him. Without thinking, he turned onto a narrow, one-lane off-ramp. Unfathomable darkness enveloped his tiny car and the rain suddenly stopped.

Draco was left peering into the black, searching through the night for the strand of road that unraveled beneath his tires.

And all around him, there was naught but silence, _dead_, damnable silence.

He glanced once more at his rearview mirror and was both shocked (and immeasurably relieved) to not see the squad car.

Had his magic involuntarily kicked in and plucked him from danger?

Draco remembered his first burst of magic as a boy of two when he had accidentally fallen into the pond behind his family's manor one frosty winter morning.

The icy water had sucked all the air out of his lungs, pulling him down, down, down until his boots touched the bottom and the world was a grey blur just beyond the surface.

He would have drowned, _should_ have drowned, but instead found himself propelled out of the water and onto the snowy bank, shaken, sodden, but _safe_.

Had the same instinct to survive saved him yet again? Had he someone been shielded from the searching lights and sirens and furious pursuit of the Muggle police?

Draco allowed himself a small smile. Humph, he didn't need anyone to help him after all, not when he had…

A road sign flew past the right side of his car and indistinctly Draco saw the words "Welcome To" spelled out in peeling block letters.

What the…?

The car pitched violently to the left, skidding, the tires shredded by cracked, jagged tar. He fought for control, panicked and slammed on the brakes.

A guardrail suddenly loomed out of the shadows, and without thinking, Draco let go of the wheel and threw his hands in front of his face.

A guttural grinding noise rent the air as the car slammed straight into it, followed by the screech of shattering glass.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For those of you familiar with the Silent Hill universe, you'll recognize the policewoman, Cybil Bennett from both Silent Hill One and the film. Since not much information is provided for her, I've taken the liberty to flesh her out a bit and give her some back-story. And for those of you who _aren't_ familiar with Silent Hill, don't worry. As previously promised, no prior knowledge if necessary of the game series, film or characters and Officer Bennett may be considered an OC in this fic ^_^

Thanks for taking the time to read! Happy Holidays!


	4. Chapter Four Silent Hill

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Four Silent Hill**

Draco lifted his head, blinking the blood away from his eyes. Pain seized him, throwing him against the driver's seat with all the force of the Cruciatus Curse. He swallowed a scream. Mocking shards of memory danced through his dazed mind.

The sirens.

The cop.

The deceivingly slick road.

His car was nestled against a dented guardrail, the remnants of his shattered headlights dusting the blacktop like frost. And outside, the sky wept soot.

_Shit. _

He lifted his hand and touched his forehead. A trickle of burning pain coursed up his brow. He pulled away his fingers and saw the tips painted red.

Instantly, he reached for his wand, feeling through his jeans to his back pocket for the distinct shape of the handle. He touched the tip of it and pulled it free, wondering why it felt so light…so dead.

_No._

The hawthorn was snapped cleanly in half, dangling like a grotesquely broken finger off the unicorn hair.

_No. No. NO!_

Draco was surprised when the tears came, hot, thick, streaking down his cheeks with such ferocity that he felt shame.

His wand, broken. No, he didn't deserve this…this humiliation…no, this _mutilation_.

Was this what the Ministry wanted? To leave him powerless, defenseless, bleeding…

Draco shut his eyes, leaning forward on the steering wheel as his head throbbed. Grimacing, he pulled down the sun shield and tried to discern his reflection in the tiny mirror.

A long, jagged cut ran from his hairline to just above the bridge of his nose.

How ironic, it looked like Potter's damn scar.

Carefully, Draco prodded at his wound and sighed in relief when he saw it wasn't deep. Painful, but clean and shallow.

He sat back in the seat once more, clutching his wand in shaking hands.

What now?

Tilting his head just so, he glanced out the window and was shocked to see soot drifting lazily through the air. Not snow, not rain, but soot.

Where was he? Or rather, what had happened?

Fire, he thought. There must be a fire somewhere.

He opened his window tentatively and glanced outside.

The road was scarred with tire marks and broken glass. Draco saw that his front bumper had been mangled, crumpled against a crooked guardrail that showed exactly where he had skidded and crashed.

With great difficulty, he twisted around in the seat and looked behind him. The road was deserted and, to be honest, he couldn't see much of it.

Only soot. Only ash. Only fog.

So much for the cop.

Draco opened his door now and tried to stand. His legs refused at first, and he had to sit another long minute before he could push himself up.

With aching knees, he limped around to the front of the car and frowned.

_Idiot. Stupid idiot._

Well, he certainly couldn't Apparate without a wand, but he tried it anyway, only turning blankly on the spot and falling against the side of the Honda.

Halfheartedly, Draco tried to send up warning sparks to alert any nearby wizard of his peril, not that he wanted to be arrested for his actions at the Brahms bar.

But once more, his wand did not respond.

Draco cursed and kicked one of the tires. Now what?

He threw himself back into the driver's seat and twisted the key futilely. The engine gasped once, then fell silent.

Desperately, he pushed his foot against the gas pedal, but the car stayed stationary. Even the lights had died.

Draco climbed to his feet with a groan, pulled the keys from the ignition and slammed the door.

He had no choice but to walk. Where, he didn't know. Certainly not to Brahms where the Muggle police would be after him and any newly arrived Aurors.

Perhaps he could find a wizarding household, break-in and use the fire to contact Father in France. Of course, his parents were being watched as well, but Draco could settle on no other safe plan.

He'd just walk for now. Just get his bearings. Just walk.

The road he was on was not a very good one. Beneath his trainers ran twisted cracks in the asphalt, veering off in any and every direction. There were no other cars either. No Muggles. No wizards.

And no sign of a fire either. Draco pulled the hood of his jumper over his head and watched as the soot settled at his feet.

If he didn't know better, he'd guess the clouds were spitting the noxious ash from the very thickness of them.

He rubbed his nose, nostrils burning with the acrid smell.

There had to be a fire. _Somewhere. _

Even though there was no traffic, Draco stayed to the side of the road.

After walking for about five minutes, he stopped at the foot of another old sign similar to the one he had passed while fleeing from the cop.

It wasn't very impressive or welcoming, really. In fact, it gave him the chills.

WELCOME TO SILENT HILL was scrawled in awkward gold letters above a sickly green hill.

Silent Hill?

He had heard the name before, but couldn't exactly place it. Perhaps it had been in the flimsy guidebook given to him by the local officer for Magical Relocation.

Draco jammed his hand into the pockets of his jeans and kept on walking. Soon enough, the road emptied onto a wide street that led into the center of what appeared to be a town.

A bit like boring Brahms, he thought, stopping just before the long row of main street buildings and businesses.

Something unsettled him, though, perhaps because the place was so damn quiet and the streets, well, they were deserted.

_Silent Hill._

Draco stuck to the sidewalk, even though the only cars in the gutter were parked by the curb, their windshields obscured by a fine coat of soot.

What was this place?

A tight lump bobbed against his Adams' apple, and Draco struggled to swallow it away. His chest began to burn, a stitch clawing at his side.

How far had he walked?

He stopped to get his bearings, fighting a sudden sense of bewilderment that left his limbs as weak as water.

The stores lining the street were empty…abandoned. He peeked inside a barber shop window and saw the leather chairs swiveling slowly in an unseen breeze.

Across the street, an old post office sat silent, its naked flagpole stark against the faded brick façade.

A chill traced Draco's spine, and he had to remind himself that it was summer.

_Silent Hill._

Where had he heard that name before?

Draco wondered if he should enter one of the buildings. The likelihood of running into an agent of the law--Muggle or magical--was diminishing by the second.

In fact, he would be glad if he bumped into anyone…_anyone_

Feeling bold and a little sick to his stomach, Draco stepped out into the gutter and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hello!" he called.

The echo of his strangled voice bounced mockingly off the dead buildings.

He took a deep breath.

"Hello!"

No answer. Just silence. Just _dead_ silence.

Draco turned slowly, fearing unseen eyes. Out of habit, he kept his hand wrapped tightly around his broken wand, wishing now that he hadn't been so stupid to get into a brawl with that Muggle in Brahms.

He wanted to go home, even if home happened to be a drafty cottage in the middle of nowhere West Virginia.

This place…this Silent Hill was too eerie for him.

Draco pushed open the barber shop door, jumping a little when the rusted bell hanging overhead rang hoarsely. He approached a counter, ran his fingers over the Muggle cash machine or whatever they called it and searched for some sign of life.

"Hello," he called once more, though this time his voice was guttural, thick with uneasiness.

No one replied.

Draco glanced at his reflection in the dirty mirror on the far wall, recoiling when he noticed just how small, just how scared he looked.

Clenching his hand even tighter about his wand, he rounded the counter and searched for the telephone.

He remembered vaguely how to use it, something about pressing numbers and talking into what they called a "receiver".

Draco shuffled several papers on the counter, lifting up on old appointment book that age and dust had nearly devoured.

And then out of curiosity, he carefully flipped open the pages until he found writing.

Halfway down a page, he saw listed HYNES, JOHN-3:00 pm-SHAVE AND TRIM.

The date below read 1974.

Draco dropped the book and wiped his hands furiously on his jeans.

1974...that was almost twenty years ago.

Pushing the rest of the papers off the counter, he finally found the phone, a black, square looking thing with a long curly wire.

Quickly, he picked up the "receiver" and put it to his ear.

"Hello, is anyone there?"

He heard nothing in response.

The numbers! He'd almost forgotten.

Draco stared at the tiny, black marks on the front of the phone. He tried to press the one, but his finger went through the hole instead and pulled the dial.

After a few frustrating minutes, he figured out that _this_ dial had to be spun unlike the other phones he had practiced on that had buttons.

But now Draco faced a new problem.

Who should he call?

He didn't know any "numbers." What was the one for emergencies?

91...no 911.

Draco turned the face of the phone quickly, concentrating on each number as the dial spun neatly around.

9...1...1

He waited a breath, holding the receiver close to his ear, straining, listening for any sound of life.

After a cautious minute, he exhaled and said, "Hello? Is anyone there? I…I need help. I've been in an accident."

And then he waited, his fingers curling around the wire until his knuckles paled.

"Hello?" he asked again, this time unable to keep the fear from his voice. "Hello? Hello! Help!"

Nothing.

Draco slammed the phone down.

"Fuck!"

Exhausted, he fell against the wall and pressed his palms over his eyes. The blood had dried on his forehead, leaving his brow unpleasantly sticky.

Geez, he actually wouldn't mind it now if a Ministry wizard came along…or even that cop.

That cop…that cop…

_This road we're on isn't much used anymore. It runs through a town called Silent Hill. _

_It's abandoned, has been for the past twenty years since a fire started in the coal mines below. The only people that go up there nowadays are looking for trouble._

Draco smiled in self-deprecation. So that was it. The town was abandoned, the falling soot was from the coal mines. That was it…that was it…

This place wasn't haunted, it was…

A siren spilt the silence, shredding the still air like a fired hex. Draco jumped, his eyes wide and slammed into the counter. The old, useless phone fell to the floor.

In the mirror, he caught sight of his reflection once more, small, scared…alone.

The sky outside the barber shop churned, then seemed to disappear altogether as an unforgiving wave of black swamped the town.

Draco clutched his broken wand once more as the world around him began to shift.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hello all! Thanks so much for taking the time to read. if you have a few extra minutes, please leave a review and tell me what you think.


	5. Chapter Five The Otherworld

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rwoling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Five The Otherworld**

Cybil recognized the sound, that ring and whir signaling the opening and closing of a cash register. Summer was the best time for the store. Tourists came in and bought sandwiches for picnics on Toluca Lake. Kids on bikes parked outside in the street, counting out their allowance and forking it over for soda or potato chips.

And best of all, Mom was happy, her broom out and constantly going. Back and forth over the tile floor. Back and forth.

Those days were the best, when the register drawer shot out empty and closed a few dollars richer. They'd keep a small radio on the counter and play whatever station came in the clearest.

It was almost as if Dad hadn't died, when the store was busy and Cybil could concentrate on the steady flow of customers.

Money slid over the counter and into her hand. And Mom smiled.

"Not bad, honey. We'll do better than break even this week. Not bad at all."

But now the ring and whir of the register faded, disappearing in the piercing howl of a siren.

Cybil jerked awake, only to find her squad car nose down in a ditch.

Christ.

She glanced about wildly. Where…where was she?

The empty stretch of highway behind her was vaguely familiar. Not Brahms, no, she was in Silent Hill.

But how?

"The kid," Cybil groaned, as memories of the car chase came back to her.

Some punk had started a bar brawl and then fled the scene. The pursuit had led her right into Silent Hill. She had been close enough on his tail to PIT him when the road seemed to fall out from beneath her car, and she felt herself going sideways.

That had been what…an hour ago? Two?

She strained to see out of her back windshield. It was no longer night, but day…or close to it.

The sky was grey, and it seemed to be raining.

Cybil reached for her radio, pain spreading between her shoulder blades like hot embers.

"Damn," she mumbled, putting the radio close up to her lips. "This Officer Bennett to base. I've been involved in an 11-83 while pursuing a fleeing suspect. Location, just past the town line of Silent Hill. I may have some minor injuries. Requesting 11-99 and medical. Do you copy?"

She listened, waiting for the monotone voice of the dispatcher. The radio crackled once and then was silent.

"This Officer Bennett to base," Cybil tried once more. "Code 30. I repeat, code 30. My location is just past the town line of Silent Hill…I'm…I'm in a ditch. Base, do you copy?"

The resounding silence unnerved her.

Wincing in pain, Cybil struggled to unbuckle her seat belt and open the car door. It took a moment of shoving before it entirely gave way, and she was able to step out into the mud.

Once standing, she quickly checked herself for lacerations and broken bones. Her shoulders ached something fierce, while her chin sported an ugly scrape, the blood now dry and crusty.

Cybil moved out onto the road, knowing she had no hope of flagging down a vehicle. Drivers never passed through Silent Hill. The area was restricted.

Cybil felt like screaming. Not only had the suspect gotten away, but she had absolutely no back-up. She'd have to walk back to Brahms.

Although it was impossible to move the squad car, Cybil popped open the trunk and found a few flares to place on the road. Hopefully another unit or two would be out searching the highways for her. She had kept the dispatcher updated on her location right before the crash last night. Why no one had found her yet was a mystery, however. The Brahms Police Department was a small but efficient body of forty officers, all of whom had grown up in Toluca County and were familiar with the area.

Some had even lived in the Silent Hill before the coal mine fires broke out so many years ago. Certainly they would know where to look for her… Perhaps they had missed her car way down in the ditch?

There was something distinctly unsettling about all of this, but Cybil tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her gut as she lit the flares and placed them on the cracked road.

The sky was cloudy today, and an early morning fog kept visibility low. She was also shocked to see soot spewing into the air, probably from some faulty exhaust vent nearby.

Cybil returned to the car once more and made sure she had enough mags for her gun. Unfortunately, the Department was too small to afford regulation gas masks for every unit. The few they had were kept down at the stationhouse and used only when an officer was called to a disturbance in Silent Hill.

Cybil, therefore, only had a cheap paper mask to protect her from the potentially noxious gases thickening the air. She fitted it right over her mouth and nose, hoping she wouldn't have to linger in town long.

The place gave her the creeps.

For good measure, she kept the squad car lights and sirens on, even though the battery would drain more quickly. A passing officer should have no trouble spotting the abandoned vehicle, what with the help of the flares and the flashing red and white beams.

She started off the way she came, but the fog was too thick to see her way through, and she soon found herself back at her squad car, right where she had crashed.

Cybil shook her head once, annoyed at her lacking sense of direction. Wouldn't that be fodder for the Brahms' Gazette. _Cop Gets Lost On Local Highway_. She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment already.

Weaving past the flares, she headed back the way she came again.

And again.

And again.

After a failed fourth try, she decided the fog was no doubt keeping support units from reaching her.

She only had one choice then.

With a terse sigh, Cybil set off down the highway towards Silent Hill where the mist lessened, minding the cracks in the asphalt which sometimes ran three inches thick. There was a desolate sort of silence to the place, and she hated the way her footsteps echoed back to her like a quick, tense heartbeat.

"What a night," she mumbled, feeling more than a little pissed off at the punk kid for leading her on such a wild goose chase.

He was facing some serious charges, alright. Stupid kid.

She'd only be content when he was handcuffed and sitting in the back of _her_ squad car.

Stupid, stupid kid.

Mom would be worried, of course. Worried sick. Cybil would have to call her as soon as she found a phone.

"It's alright, Ma," she imagined herself saying, "just another day on the job." Just another day-

A rush of running footsteps made Cybil whirl around and reach for her gun.

The kid…

But the road was empty, save for the sickening flurry of soot.

God, this place did things to your head, she thought. Silly things.

_People used to say Silent Hill was haunted._

Nah. Cybil shook her head, reminding herself that she still had a few miles to walk. And with any luck, she'd bump into that kid along the way and show him exactly what happened to idiots who ran from the police.

"They never get far," she laughed to herself. The lilt of her chuckle bounced back to her, sounding weak and distorted.

Cybil shuddered and kept her hand on her gun as she walked.

* * *

Draco couldn't see. And he couldn't feel or taste or smell. But he could hear, and the scream of the air raid siren ripped him from reality, throwing him down on his knees where tears squeezed from his eyes and left him empty.

_I'm dreaming_. _This is a dream._

He crouched against the wall by the counter, fingers digging into his skull. The jagged cut on his forward bled anew. Draco tasted the blood on his clenched lips.

_This isn't real. None of this is real._

The siren continued to blare for another long minute and then abruptly ceased, its final echo reverberating off the restored stillness.

Draco sucked air in through his nose, exhaling in painful, short gasps.

_I need to open my eyes_, he thought. _I need to open my eyes, and then I'll see I'm still in the barber shop. I can get up and walk out of this town. I can get up and leave. And then I'll find some way to contact Father. But I need to open my eyes…_

Slowly, he dropped his hands from his face and placed them on either side of his torso. The floor was cold and sticky beneath his palms. Draco licked his lips once, swiping away the last of the blood with his tongue.

_Open your eyes…_

Darkness assaulted him.

There was darkness and nothing more.

The rundown barber shop had disappeared, save for the angry patter of rain somewhere outside.

He could not see a thing.

Draco forced himself to his feet, reaching out to the side to touch the counter. But instead of feeling the smooth yet slightly dusty surface, his fingertips grazed rotten wood.

He recoiled, the stench of mold and decay so thick upon him that bile erupted in his mouth.

_No!_ Draco set his jaw and swallowed.

He needed light to see by. Instinctively, Draco reached for his wand, forgetting for an instant that is was broken.

Disappointment plummeted into his gut like a hunk of ice when he felt the two halves of it.

Was there no way to mend it?

Draco knew very little about wands themselves and indeed nothing about wand repair. But he remembered a similar incident back at Hogwarts, during his second year when Ron Weasley had snapped his wand in half and bound it together with Spello-tape.

Of course, the wand itself was worse for the wear and served only to misfire spells on the caster…but what was he to do here and now?

"Bloody hell," he grunted, tearing off a length of cloth from his undershirt and tying a sloppy knot around the two pieces.

_This won't work, you bleeding fool_.

Draco gritted his teeth and raised his wand just in front of his nose.

"_Lumos,"_ he said, desperation making his voice ragged and raw.

The black pressed around him, but a bit of warmth shot through his fingertips.

"_Lumos,"_ he repeated, almost begging now.

A feeble spark shot forth from the wand tip, accompanied by an almost non-existent glow.

"Please," Draco prayed, _"Lumos."_

The glow strengthened, allowing him to see about an inch away from his face.

Stumbling, he moved around the counter and groped for the door.

The wand hummed faintly, the spark flickering as he pressed his free hand to the slick windows.

There seemed to be some light out in the street….

Feeling his way along the window, he found the door and wrenched it open.

Rain rushed into his face, bitter and metallic-tasting.

Draco stepped out onto the sidewalk, the toes of his trainers catching on a crack in the splintered pavement. He titled his head back, searching for the sky, the clouds, the soot…

Oily droplets moistened his cheeks. He inhaled sharply, bewildered by the utter black.

Somewhere down the street, a rusty old lamplight flickered on, emitting greasy light.

Draco moved towards it, an unwilling moth beckoned by a flame. His wand tip flickered then faded completely.

To keep himself from falling, he reached out his left hand to touch a wall running perpendicular to the gutter. But where his palm should have meet brick, it grazed chain link.

Draco jumped back, his fingers smeared with grime and…what was that?

Tentatively, he held his hand up to his nose and sniffed.

The stench overwhelmed him.

Decay

_Where am I?_

The lamplight down the street seemed to groan in the downpour, the bulb now bright and hideous like a lidless eye.

Draco uttered a cry as the main street of Silent Hill was revealed to him in full.

It was as if the buildings had shed a deceptive second skin and now stood bare in their bones. Iron beams jutted from brick walls which oozed a brackish liquid. The pavement itself was slippery with muck.

Ugly chain link fences crisscrossed the avenue, interrupting the pavement which belched embers, hinting at the fire below.

_No._

This was unreal, terrifyingly unreal. Draco stumbled back, a muted scream strangling him.

He was not alone.

Chained to the foot of the lamp post, which was now illuminated by the ghastly bulb, was a person.

_No. _He shook his head in shock. _A body_.

The flesh of the abdomen had been torn open…

Draco ran. He ran back up the street and around a sharp corner into an alley. Turning once more, he sprinted into an empty back lot, finally collapsing against an eroded garbage bin.

His breath came ragged and he could no longer clamp down against the wave of frightened nausea.

Draco retched violently, shaking, panting, one hand clawing at his gut.

This could not be real.

Forcing himself to his feet, he moved around to the other side of the garbage bin and crouched by the back door of a building.

He had to be hallucinating. None of this was real. The car crash…his head. None of this was real.

Over the drumming of the rain, Draco didn't hear the shuffling footsteps approach him. But suddenly the darkness was parted by a drawn-out shriek as three crumpled figures turned into the back lot.

Draco fell back in shock, the pavement shredding his jeans as he crawled backwards on his hands.

_Inferi_, he thought. _The Undead!_

The creatures were small, unsteady, with grey flaking skin and fierce scorch marks.

Draco smelled burnt flesh as they drew closer. Once more, he reached for his wand, fighting to stand and run.

But a maimed hand grasped his ankle, dragging him back with surprising force.

Grunting, he tried to fire a stunning spell over his shoulder at the thing, but his wand only sparked feebly.

More hands now. More shrieks.

Draco thought back to the disemboweled corpse he'd found on the street.

_I'm next._

A wretched scream escaped him and he kicked back, punching viciously with his free hand. His fist connected with burned skin, and at once the foremost creature recoiled, only to spring back upon him with renewed force.

"Help!" he cried in desperation, face pushed against the putrid pavement. "Somebody…please. Help!"

The hands on his legs, sharp like pincers, suddenly loosened. In a feverish whirl, the back lot shifted around him.

Draco lay limp, exhausted. "Help," he muttered one last time before the world slipped away.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know I've said in previous notes that any prior knowledge of the Silent Hill universe is not needed to understand this fic. However, I have decided to explain just a bit of canon that might make this chapter seem less…hmm…weird.

In the game series and film, the town of Silent Hill exist in three alternate realities, i.e. dimensions, parallel layers, etc.

The first is a normal, abandoned town. This is the reality most people experience when they enter Silent Hill.

The second is known as the Fog World, named, of course, for the thick fog that smothers the town. Draco already encountered this reality in the previous chapter and as of the beginning of this chapter, so has Cybil.

The third and final dimension is known as The Otherworld, in which the town decays into a hellish atmosphere filled with horrifying imagery and monsters. Draco encountered this reality at the end of this chapter.

For the purposes of this fic, Draco and Cybil will only enter the second and third dimensions and from now on, they will do so together, at the same time.

Not so confusing, right? I hope so ^_^

Thanks so much for taking the time to read! Chapter six should be posted soon. Have a great week!


	6. Chapter Six Under Arrest

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of J.K. Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Six Under Arrest**

Soft fingers lit on Draco's brow. His eyelids flickered at the sensation, nostrils dilating to detect the stench of staleness, of a life once lived and now forgotten.

But he was home, of course, in England. Reclining, lazy, wistful on the lawn behind Malfoy Manor. The summer days were long and he would watch for the first stars before dinner, before Mother called him inside…away from the dark.

_The dark_.

Draco sat bolt upright, his mouth open and a scream freezing in his raw throat.

"Help!"

They were surrounding him, attacking him, those frightfully indistinct shapes with pincer hands and cracked, burnt flesh…

He looked around wildly and found himself alone.

Draco scrambled to his feet.

He was standing in a lot behind some store There was an old, empty garbage bin to his right and several abandoned tires piled against a wooden fence.

The sky was a steely gray, not black and the clouds shed soot.

Draco stumbled and forced himself upright against the garbage bin.

_I'm alone. Alone._

There was no rain, no rust, no rush of terror.

The buildings which had once been stripped of their bricks like sloughed off skin now stood entirely intact. Stark, but intact.

And the figures…

Draco realized that he had been clutching his broken wand in his hand, his knuckles bleached white and aching.

He turned around once, then twice.

_I'm alone._

The town was much the same as it had been before. Still, desolate, and utterly silent.

But he didn't believe any of this, didn't trust his most keen senses.

_I've gone mad._

Draco hurried out of the alley and onto the main street once more.

A stale wind funneled along the avenue, disturbing only useless telephone wires strung between poles.

He stepped out into the gutter, swinging his arms nervously as he walked, glancing over his shoulder as paranoia raised all the tiny hairs on his neck.

_Someone's watching._

The lamp posts gazed plaintively back at him, and Draco remembered at once the body he had seen, the corpse tied to the pillar like an abused marionette.

Terror left him senseless.

He ran, ignoring the panicked throb of his feet against the pavement, straight through the town, past the blank row of stores, the post office, a bank and an auto mechanic shop.

Lanes branched off at the intersections, leading deeper into the nightmare Draco only wanted to escape.

Lungs burning with exhaustion, limbs loose with fear, he pushed himself further and further towards the horizon where he hoped the road would snake away, back to the highway or to Brahms or any place apart from Silent Hill.

The buildings on either side of him soon thinned, and Draco was brought up short just beneath the last traffic light in town.

He skidded to an ungainly halt where the street dipped down, heart trumpeting in his chest, unwilling to believe his deceitful eyes.

Draco fell to his knees, a broken sob rattling his ribcage.

"No…NO!"

* * *

Cybil Bennett reckoned she was making good time. It took her about a half an hour to reach the main street of Silent Hill which ran right through town and connected with the interstate on the other side.

So far, there had been no sign of the suspect save for his banged up car which she found five minutes from her own cruiser.

Judging from the smashed up front, she figured the kid must be hurt or at least a little worse for the wear.

He'd probably have to be shipped off to the hospital before being transferred to the station house for booking.

Served him right, she thought, for making such a mess out of things.

Before continuing into town, Cybil did a quick search of the car for drugs or weapons. To her surprise, she found nothing, not even an empty soda bottle or a stack of music cassettes.

In fact, the vehicle was unusually clean. Cybil knew that most young men these days were slobs. All this punk had was a road map of West Virginia in his glove compartment.

Had she known better, she would have thought that the car was stolen. During her initial traffic stop, Cybil had run the plates only to have them come up, registered to Draco Malfoy.

But that didn't mean there was nothing wrong with the kid. She simply couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something.

And if this Malfoy fellow had started a bar brawl, then subsequently fled to Silent Hill to avoid arrest, well, that was enough for her.

The Brahms P.D. was having enough trouble with the drug trafficking that was reported to have cropped up recently in the abandoned town.

Back in its heyday, Silent Hill had been notorious for producing PTV, a psychedelic, highly addictive substance made from a plant called White Claudia which was native to the region. After the fires, most of the trafficking had ceased before altogether disappearing. Five years ago, however, some clever dealers had snuck back into the town to manufacture PTV once more and sell it throughout Toluca county.

The Brahms P.D. was hard put to bring such independent, reckless dealers to justice. Officers were instructed to be extra vigilant while on the look-out for vehicles headed to Silent Hill. But even hefty fines for trespassing and jail time seemed ineffective to stem the flow of illegal substances.

Cybil thought this kid in particular had something to do with the smuggling of PTV out of the town. He was supposedly English and had possibly heard of the drug from underground web sources that listed Brahms as a hotspot for drug-related tourism.

Either way, the kid was in a heap of trouble, and Cybil guessed that instigating a bar brawl was the least of his transgressions.

After leaving the suspect's car and walking at a brisk pace for another twenty minutes, she found herself on the main street of the town. It was just as she had remembered it from the night she had rescued the lost teens: empty, aging, eerie.

But now the sky was spitting soot, and Cybil feared that the fires below were spewing noxious fumes. Whatever the case, she had to contact base as soon as possible. Only with proper gas masks and back-up could Silent Hill be thoroughly searched for Malfoy.

Time was slipping away, she realized, and the kid also ran the risk of falling sick from the toxic gases.

As much as she wanted to stay and search for him now, Cybil knew she needed to get help. Picking up the pace, she moved down the main street towards the interstate entrance. There she'd be able to flag somebody down and get back to the station -- if one of her fellow officers hadn't found her wrecked squad car already.

When she was nearing the end of main street, Cybil felt a drop of worry slide down into her gut. The road up ahead was fogged and she couldn't see beyond the last traffic light.

And what was that, crumpled up in the middle of the street?

She squinted, her eyes catching sight of a reddish sweatshirt and mussed blond hair.

_Christ, it's the kid!_

Immediately, her hand flew to her gun, and she drew it from her hostler.

Malfoy was slumped against the sidewalk, unaware of her or anything around him, it seemed.

_He's probably stoned_, she thought, _or worse._

Nevertheless, she raised her gun and shouted, "Hands where I can see them, now!"

Malfoy jumped and scrambled to his feet.

"Whoa! Whoa!" he stammered, holding his hands up, arms out to the side.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Cybil barked.

Malfoy shook his head, his face pale, a rusty streak of blood trailing down his forehead. "No, I don't have anything, I swear."

"Lift your shirt up by the collar and turn around."

"What?"

"Do it!"

He did as he was told, and Cybil glanced at his waist, searching for the butt of a gun or a knife handle tucked discreetly inside his pants. So far, so good.

"Now get on your knees, hands on your head!"

"Are you mental?" Malfoy sputtered.

_He's high_. Cybil sighed tersely. "Get on your knees, and put your hands on your head!"

The kid did as he was told this time, moving slowly, as if his muscles were stiff and aching.

Cybil cautiously lowered her gun and extracted her handcuffs from her belt. She stepped up behind him, snapping them on with quick efficiency. But as she looked over Malfoy's shoulder, her heart plummeted straight into her stomach.

The road was gone.

There was nothing but a jagged line of broken asphalt and a sheer cliff that melded with the increasingly thick fog.

It was as if the street had never been existed or had simply disintegrated.

Cybil blinked. Impossible. The haze was thick, visibility was low. She was tired, her eyes were certainly playing tricks on her.

"Stand up," she said, pulling Malfoy to his feet. "Do you have any injuries? I noticed your car a ways back, all banged up."

"Can you see it too?" he asked, his voice distant and warped by the fog. "The road…it's disappeared."

Cybil did not answer. She patted him down thoroughly, her hands tugging at his pockets. He only had a broken stick on him, the two halves tied together with a length of ripped t-shirt.

Perhaps it was some new type of drug paraphernalia, a pipe used in England.

In any case, it was evidence now. She put it in her pocket.

"Do you have any injuries?" she repeated. "I need to know if your require medical attention. Did you hit your head in the crash?"

"Did you see the cliff?" Malfoy replied stubbornly. "The road is completely missing."

Cybil turned him around and put a finger in front of his eyes.

"I want you to follow my finger back and forth. Don't turn your head now, all right? Have you done any substances within the last twenty-four hours?"

Malfoy followed her finger as ordered. Cybil noted that his pupils weren't dilated, and he didn't seem under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

"Well, you're lucky," she said, "You could've been killed on the road last night or killed someone else, for that matter. But you're still in a boatload of trouble, running from the police like that-"

Malfoy suddenly seemed to lose his patience. Tensing, he arched his neck and stared directly into her face.

"What's wrong with you?" he rasped. "Where the bloody hell is the road?!"

"I don't know!" Cybil shouted, making him flinch ever so slightly. "But you have to calm down now. This place isn't safe. See the falling ash? That could be poison for all I know."

She paused, breathing hard. _I need to take my own advice, _she thought. _Calm down, just calm down._

There had to be an explanation for all this anyway.

"The underground coal mine fires might have something to do with it," she said. "It's possible the road was destroyed by a sinkhole."

"Come off it." Malfoy tossed his head.

His arrogance fueled Cybil's uncertainty. Grabbing his arm, she began to drag him away from the crater.

"You're being placed under arrest for assault, resisting arrest and trespassing. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right-"

"Filthy Muggle," the boy grunted.

Cybil raised an eyebrow. Muggle? Humph, that one was new to her.

"You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney-"

"If you knew who I was…dare to treat me like a thug-"

"-one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"

Malfoy did not reply.

Cybil shook his arm. "Mr. Malfoy, do you understand these rights?"

He raised his steel grey eyes, looking so righteously offended that Cybil almost laughed.

"Good enough," she said.

They walked for a short time in silence, Malfoy dragging his feet obnoxiously. More than once, Cybil tightened her grip on his arm and gave him a good jerk.

"It would be easier for both of us if you cooperated," she said once they were halfway up main street.

Malfoy refused to look at her. "Where are you taking me?"

Cybil stopped at an intersection, searching for a street sign.

"The fire house is around here somewhere. They still have a working radio in case of emergencies."

"What happened to your car?" he asked, his voice obscenely supercilious.

Cybil felt a pang of irritation. No thanks to him, her squad car was useless, nestled in a ditch some two miles away.

"This way," she said and directed him down Bachman Road. "And quit lagging. If you have any injuries-"

"I'm tired," he huffed.

Cybil snorted. "We can't stop now. I'll call for medical as soon as I can."

"And if the ray-do in this fire place doesn't work?"

She turned around and looked at him, stunned by the utter serious of expression.

"What are you on?"

"Nothing." Malfoy was adamant.

"If you have a concussion…"

"I don't think so."

"Let me know if you feel dizzy, at any rate," Cybil said gruffly. "Or if you're going to pass out."

Malfoy rolled his shoulders. "I'm fine."

"Wonderful." But Cybil frowned. There was something this kid wasn't telling her. His face was so damn pale, too pale. Lord knew what he had been huffing.

She decided to chat him up a bit. It was amazing how suspects would unknowingly divulge something useful, especially if they were high or coming down.

"Why did you come here?' she asked, keeping a weather eye out for the dilapidated fire house.

They passed a dry cleaners and a fast food restaurant, Queen Burger.

Malfoy shrugged. "I had to."

"Why?"

He shrugged again.

Cybil realized he was starting to clam up. She'd have to coax him. "You know, I've lived here all my life," she said. "My mom owned a grocery store in Brahms and all. But I've honestly never heard of anyone moving to Toluca County for no reason."

"You have tourists, don't you, Officer Bennett?" Malfoy replied, glancing at her name tag.

Cybil smiled grimly. "Yeah, but it's mostly families, older couples. The only young people that come here are usually looking to buy White Claudia."

"Who's she?"

Cybil had to stifle a laugh. Boy, this kid was playing dumb. "It's a plant, Mr. Malfoy. And you can only find it in Silent Hill. Some sick people like to cook up a drug called PTV with it."

"And you think I came here all the way from England to get some?"

"I don't know." She decided to parry his question with one of her own. "Did you?"

Malfoy suddenly stopped right in his tracks. "Have you been listening to a word I've said?" The look of incredulity on his face was almost painful. _Almost_.

Cybil tugged at his arm. "Fine. Keep your mouth shut, but don't expect the judge to be so lenient."

"Lenient." Malfoy shook his head, his platinum bangs matted with blood. "Yeah right."

Cybil clenched her jaw. Normally, she wouldn't tolerate such an attitude from a perp, but right now she needed to keep things under control. With no back-up, she was feeling strangely vulnerable.

Silent Hill had a way of closing in on people, and she supposed that was part of the sick fascination thrill seekers felt for it. She, on the other hand, sensed aggression.

The fire house soon loomed out of the haze, a two storey building with a red, dented garage door. A tattered American flag was wrapped about a flag pole protruding from the second floor. Dusty windows stared blankly out onto Bachman Road.

Cybil repressed a shiver.

She hated to be watched.

They entered through a street level door. Cybil had to work the jammed lock for a minute before it gave way.

Cobwebs crowded the threshold.

"Inside." She guided Malfoy through the door, and together they stepped into the garage, empty save for an outdated fire truck.

A sheen of sweat now covered Malfoy's face. His eyes darted over to the row of battered fire helmets.

Cybil found the radio in a room off to the side of the garage. She pulled out a grimy chair for Malfoy and gestured towards it.

He sat, shaking his head compulsively.

"Better?" she asked.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that thing will work?" He stared at the radio, which admittedly did not look very promising.

But Cybil knew better. Since the place was such a hotbed for drug activity, arrests were often made inside or directly outside the town lines. Although Silent Hill itself was abandoned, the Brahms P.D. kept a wavelength open for officers in need.

Feeling confident, she flipped the dial on and picked up the speaker. The crackle of static soon filled the tiny room.

Malfoy looked nervously over his shoulder.

"This is Officer Bennett to base. Do you copy?"

She listened hard, struggling to discern any response amidst the buzz.

"This is Officer Bennett to base. Base, do you copy?"

The static stopped, only to be replaced by silence.

Malfoy was sweating profusely. "Listen, I think…well, you're going to think I'm mental but…"

"Give me a second." Cybil swallowed, her skin prickling with apprehension. The radio _should_ work, it _had _to.

She fiddled with the dial. "This is Officer Bennett to base. Base, do you copy?"

Nothing.

Cybil's frustration, and fear, mounted.

Malfoy fidgeted in his chair. "There's something wrong here. Before…before you found me, I was-"

"Officer Bennett to base!" Cybil all but screamed into the speaker. "Base, do you copy?"

"Listen!" Without warning, Malfoy leapt to his feet.

Cybil jerked away from him. Was he trying to make a grab for her gun? "Did I tell you to move?" She shoved him back down.

Malfoy stared at her, his face taut with terror. "We're not safe here!"

The radio erupted with static once more. Cybil smiled triumphantly. _Thank God_. She was about to place the call once more when the sky was rent with an air raid siren.

Malfoy uttered a strangled cry. "It's happening!"


	7. Chapter Seven The Dark Mark

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of J.K. Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Seven The Dark Mark**

_Last thing I remember, I was r__unning for the door_

_I had to find the passage back t__o the place I was before_

_"Relax," said the night man, "__We are programmed to receive."_

_"You c__an checkout any time you like, b__ut you can never leave." [1]_

Blackness dragged Draco down and left him senseless. For a moment, he huddled on the ground, the siren blaring in his ears, mouth opened in a hopeless scream.

But then a hand shook his shoulder, the noise died, and Officer Bennett pulled him up into a sitting position.

"What the hell?" she muttered through the dark.

Draco twisted his hands, annoyed by the iron cuffs lacing his wrists together. He wished he had his wand, even though it was broken and nearly useless.

Officer Bennett shuffled about, and suddenly a pure beam of light sliced through the shadows.

Draco blinked. "How did you?"

"My flashlight," she said.

He didn't bother to ask what she meant.

"The power can't be out." Slowly, she rose, and Draco felt her knee pressed against his back. "It wasn't on to begin with. Dammit, where the hell is the radio?"

He heard her fumbling around, the light in her hand wavering wildly.

Draco pulled his feet closer to his body, his neck stiff and cold with fear.

Someone was watching them.

"We're not alone," he rasped.

"What?"

"There's someone out there."

She turned around, shining the light directly into his face. "What do you mean?"

"I saw something…before. It happened just like this. The sky went dark and…" He paused, unable to continue, remembering the disemboweled body and the fierce, tiny creatures tearing at him with their misshapen hands.

"What did you see?" Officer Bennett demanded.

Draco swallowed. "I couldn't tell you. It…it all happened so quick. But I think we're in danger."

She said nothing for a moment, then, "If you're trying to freak me out-"

"No!" Draco protested. "I-"

The door to the firehouse jerked open.

Officer Bennett spun around, her flashlight skimming the outer garage.

The door swung closed with a long, drawn out creak. Shuffling footsteps skidded along the floor.

Draco crouched down lower. He saw Officer Bennett silhouetted by her flashlight, one hand reaching for the door knob.

"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there? Hey, I'm a police officer!"

Suddenly, she dropped her hand from the door knob and reached for her gun.

Draco strained furiously against the handcuffs.

Officer Bennett must have heard him moving, for she glanced quickly over her shoulder at him. "Don't move!"

But Draco ignored her.

The shuffling steps in the garage faded.

"Stay here," Officer Bennett ordered, and Draco watched in horror as she moved out of the room, the light leaving with her.

He squatted on the floor by the chair, weaponless, defenseless, his hands pinned behind his back.

_This is not how I'm going to die_, he thought. _I can't die like this. _

The click of Officer Bennett's shoes on the floor echoed through the garage. Now was his chance to escape.

Draco pushed his arms back as far as he could, his teeth closing over his lower lip as pain wrenched his shoulders. Slowly, his hands slipped further down his back. He struggled for a long moment, but the cuffs were too tight.

"Bitch," he growled under his breath.

Officer Bennett had moved to the far side of the garage. He heard her circling the fire truck.

Draco wondered if he should chance slipping out the door unnoticed, handcuffs and all. But the cop still had the broken pieces of his wand, and he wasn't going anywhere without them.

A sound in the corner of the room caught his attention, and instinctively, he tucked his legs closer to his body, ready to spring to his feet if necessary.

Suddenly, the radio came to life, spewing static and garbled voices.

Draco, who didn't know the first thing about using radios, but knew it was his only connection to the outside world, lunged into the darkness.

The speaker clattered to the floor. He kicked at it with his feet, stooped down and tried desperately to wrap his hands about it.

"Hello?" he called. "Is anyone there? Help! I need help!"

The static ceased, only to be replaced by a single, disembodied voice that wailed,

_Draco_

Energy rushed into his pulsing veins. Draco stumbled back, away from the sheer desperation denoted by the aching cry.

Someone was calling him. Someone knew that he was here, trapped, helpless…

He groped by the transmitter.

"Hello! Hello!"

But the voice was gone, dispersed by the dark. Angrily, he swiped his foot at the chair. The toe of his trainer connected with something less solid, however, something sticky and soft.

He recoiled.

A shape lumbered towards him, breathing in harsh, fetid gasps.

Draco's nostrils flared, an acidic scent poisoning the oppressive air. A churning, guttural growl made him leap to the side, but not before the figure slammed into him.

The power of the assault threw him against the chair, his ribs shocked with pain. Unable to defend himself, he thrust wildly with his legs, striking the figure only once and poorly at that.

"Help!" he called, the words leaking out of his mouth in a groan.

The figure stooped over him, flaps of burnt skin dangling in his face.

Draco retched, twisting his body beneath the creature, fighting to free himself. But he was pinned, the air being slowly forced out of his lungs by ape-like hands.

He gasped, agonized tears streaking down his cheeks.

_Help! _

The door to the radio room flew open, light pouring in and stunning the creature crouched on top of him.

Officer Bennett had her baton out and she brought her arm down in a smooth arch, bashing Draco's attacker in the skull.

At once it released him, falling back against the radio which smashed to the floor and shattered.

Officer Bennett pulled him quickly to his feet and pushed him behind her, one hand still brandishing her baton.

In the bright glow of the flashlight, Draco saw the creature for what it was or at least what it appeared to be -- a skinless gorilla.

Now angered, the monster shook itself free of the stunning blow and readied itself for another leaping attack. But Officer Bennett slammed the door to the radio room closed and dragged him out into the street.

Draco stumbled wretchedly behind her.

She slowed her pace and wrapped a surprisingly strong arm around his waist, supporting him.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a voice that was not nearly as gruff as before.

Draco coughed. "What the hell was that thing?"

"I don't know."

Once more, Silent Hill appeared to have shed its skin. Beneath them, fiery craters had opened in the asphalt. Buildings which had once been made of sturdy brick now stood lopsided, leaking putrid grime. They both tripped over the rotted pavement, barely missing a coil of rusty barbed wire wrapped around a crooked lamppost, lying in wait.

Officer Bennett pushed him underneath a tattered storefront banner and turned to face the street. She looked up and down the gutter, jammed her baton back into her belt and retrieved her gun once more.

"Now do you believe me?" Draco panted, frightened to death but more than willing to rub salt into her wounds.

"Quiet," Officer Bennett said, her voice stiff again.

They waited, huddled against the storefront next to a trio of rattling pipes that ran up the building's roof.

Draco lifted his shoes and noticed that the pipes were leaking rancid water.

The stench sickened him.

With difficulty, he swallowed a mouth full of bile.

Suddenly, the pipes stopped rattling altogether and the sidewalk dried, returning to its natural, weathered shade of grey. In the gutter, the craters snapped closed like sutured wounds. Bricks reinserted themselves into buildings. The coil of barb wire disintegrated.

And at last, the darkness fell away, revealing the same foggy sky.

Draco blinked his eyes and saw Officer Bennett do the same.

"Did that just happen?" he asked in a whisper.

The town had returned to normal.

Officer Bennett was pale, and slowly, so very slowly, she dropped her gun back in its hostler.

"Let's get off the street," she said and pointed at the antiques store behind them.

Draco complied and let her lead them inside. There was a green fainting couch pushed against the far wall next to a mahogany dining room set. Immediately, he sank down onto it, breathing hard.

Officer Bennett paced the length of the store.

"Will you at least take the handcuffs off me now?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No."

Draco spat on the floor in disgust. "Fuck you, you stupid cop." [2]

Bennett ignored him. She reached for the walkie-talkie on her belt and put it to her lips.

"This Officer Bennett to base. Base, do you copy?"

Static responded.

"Dammit," she muttered.

Draco suddenly remembered the voice he had heard on the radio before the creature attacked.

"I was able to reach someone," he said.

Officer Bennett stopped pacing. "Who? How?"

"The radio in the fire house, after you left. There was a voice calling my name. I tried to respond." He stared up at her through his matted bangs. "But it doesn't matter now, the thing was smashed anyway."

Bennett cocked an eyebrow. "Someone called your name? Does anyone else know you're here?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Of course not. I never intended to come to Silent Hill in the first place."

"Yeah right." Bennett put her walkie away and folded her arms over her chest.

"You really are mental," Draco sputtered. "Don't you see what's going on? There is some type of dark magic here. I've never seen anything like it before."

"Magic?" She laughed.

Draco flushed, realizing he had said too much.

"That thing," he mumbled, "that thing that attacked me. It wasn't human."

The smile instantly faded from Officer Bennett's face. She ran a hand through her close-cropped blond hair. "It was dark," she said. "I couldn't see well and-"

"Come off it!" Draco tried to stand, but fell back against the couch. "It wasn't human."

Bennett turned away from him. He saw her reach into a pouch on her belt and take out a small, black box. She was counting her bullets.

"People in Brahms," she said quietly, "say this place is haunted. I've…I've been here before myself and, Christ, you're right. There's something wrong. But we need to relax, keep our heads straight. No use panicking."

"We're trapped," Draco replied hollowly. "You saw the roads. This place wants us here. It-" He broke off abruptly, his eyes widening as he noticed an antique brass knob underneath the glass counter. He struggled to his feet, his stomach dropping down to his knees.

No, it couldn't be.

"What's the matter?" Bennett asked as he approached the counter.

Draco bent closer to the knob, his breath fogging the protective glass. The round handle had been engraved with a narrow skull and from its open mouth protruded a vicious looking snake.

The Dark Mark.

"Break the glass," he told Bennett.

She stared at him. "Why?"

"The knob, I know that seal on it. Please, I need to see it."

Bennett seemed to consider him for a minute. At last, she extracted her baton with a sigh. "I suppose it won't do any harm," she said, gesturing at him. "Stand back."

Draco moved away and watched as she brought the baton down on top of the counter. The glass shattered.

Bennett rifled through the display case and fished out the knob. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes." Draco shifted awkwardly in the handcuffs. "Listen, could you please take these things off. It's important, really."

Officer Bennett rolled her eyes. "Come here."

Draco gratefully turned around and smiled in relief as he felt the cuffs snap off his wrists. But then Bennett pulled him to face her and put the restraints in front of him instead of behind.

"That's good enough for now," she said.

Draco wanted to protest, but couldn't afford to jeopardize his position. Instead, he took the knob from her, rolling it around in his palms. Behind the handle he saw engraved the name of a school, Midwich Elementary. How could this have come from there? He didn't know of any wizarding community in Silent Hill and certainly the Dark Lord couldn't have had a foothold amongst Muggles.

Draco suddenly became aware of Bennett's eyes on him and he felt pressed to explain.

"This marking on the knob," he began, "I know it. See, well, look here."

Reluctantly, he shook up his right sleeve and displayed the fading Dark Mark on his arm.

"A gang tattoo?" she asked.

"No." Draco dropped his arm, feeling undeniably embarrassed. "Well, sort of. I was part of the group that used this mark in England." He was shocked by his own honesty, but felt at a loss as how to properly relay the importance of the symbol otherwise.

Bennett looked smug. "So I was right then, you're here for the drugs."

"No!" Draco shook his head in frustration. "It's not like that, it's…it's." He paused and started over. "This group, it was more like a club for certain people, elite people from good families with particular values. But it's no longer around, you see, and I can't understand why this mark would be found here, of all places. I'd like to go to the school that it came from, please. I think it might help us understand what's going on."

Bennett stared at him skeptically. "You're not telling me everything," she said. "And I'm not going anywhere without hearing the whole truth."

Draco walked back to the couch and sat, his hands clenched over the knob. What could he tell her, that he was wizard exiled from his homeland for committing crimes against his own kind?

No.

He'd have to simplify his answer and somehow keep her in the dark as to who he really was.

"This group," he said, "we…well, I'll admit it. Our members did awful things. They hurt other people who weren't like them. Killed people. Destroyed families. None of it should have happened though, and I'm ashamed to say that I was a part of it. I never killed anyone though -- my mother protected me from becoming murderer. I'm here in America now because my kind don't want me. This is my punishment, being away from home, away from my family. I'm sorry if I've caused trouble in Brahms. I certainly didn't mean to. But will you please help me now, help me found a way out this place? I think this might the only way."

Bennett still didn't seem entirely convinced. She glanced out into the empty street and then looked back at him.

"If you're lying-"

"I'm not."

"But if you are," she said. "Don't think I won't shoot you -- or any of your friends, for that matter."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you ^_^

[1] Taken from "Hotel California" written by Don Felder, Don Henley, and Glenn Frey of _The Eagles_ 1977.

[2] This line was taken directly from the _Silent Hill _(2006) film, directed by Christopher Gans, screenplay by Roger Avary.


	8. Chapter Eight Midwich Elementary

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of J.K. Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Eight Midwich Elementary **

_I saw the sign_

_For she has foretold and she has forseen_

_Am I forsaken?_

_What death may bring_

_My soul is drowning_

_A__re we trespassing? _

_Or here to dwell in this house of pain? [1]_

At the intersection of Finney and Midwich Streets, they made a hard left, Officer Bennett glancing stealthily around the corner to see if anyone was coming.

Draco disliked the silence that had settled between them since leaving the antiques shop. He rolled his shoulders and tried to get used to the weight of the cuffs binding his hands in front of him.

"You seem to know your way around this place," he grunted.

Bennett tilted her head slightly, her scraped chin now showing signs of bruising. "We keep a map of Silent Hill in the dispatch office down at the Brahms' Police Station. And besides, I've been here before. You're not the first kid to wander past the no trespassing signs and get trapped."

"But it wasn't always like this, right?" Draco inhaled the sharp scent of smoke and soot.

Bennett stared at the bleak street before them. "No," she said slowly.

Uneasiness squirmed in Draco's gut. They had both seen the disfigured creature that had attacked him back at the fire house, but reality was a surprisingly precious thing and neither of them wished to let it go.

Clearing his raw throat, he mumbled, "What do you think that thing was?"

Officer Bennett's face tightened. "I don't know."

"It wasn't human."

"It was dark."

"There's something wrong with this town."

"Give it a rest, will you?" she snapped. Draco sensed that the cop was quickly losing her patience, and he wisely backed off.

Bennett drew back her lips in a nervous frown. "The only reason I'm taking you to Midwich Elementary is because it's the tallest building in Silent Hill. If they bring the chopper in, we can signal them from the roof."

"The chopper?"

"The helicopter. The Brahms P.D. doesn't have one, but the neighboring county does. If the road is out, then it's the only they can reach us."

"If they even know we are missing," Draco put in, once more rubbing her wounds raw with salt.

"Course they do." Bennett sniffed loudly. "Course they do."

Draco thought she sounded unsure. He shrugged his shoulders once more, dropping his gaze to the cracked pavement where serpentine patterns tore through the decaying asphalt. He thought of the coal mine fires burning below and felt a pang at discomfort when he realized Officer Bennett still had her flimsy paper mask on. Was he really sucking poisoned air into his lungs?

"How did the fires start?" he asked, his voice a pin drop in the overwhelming solitude.

Bennett readjusted the mask on her face as if the thought of the fires disturbed her. "Don't really know," she said. "My mom said it started at the hotel and spread… About a hundred people were killed, and some P.D. vets still tell horror stories of having to evacuate the entire population. Silent Hill used to be nice, quiet, a good place to raise a family and stay out of trouble."

"That's hard to imagine," Draco replied, looking at the row of deserted cars parked by the curb.

Bennett didn't say anything, and when Draco lifted his gaze, he saw a tall, faded brick building emerge from the fog. An involuntary shudder curved his spine. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"What's wrong?" Bennett reached back and took hold of his arm.

Draco ran his tongue along his teeth, the words stuck in his throat, thick and burning like tar. He wasn't one to believe in primal reactions, having subdued most of his natural impulses during his trial and subsequent exile in the States. To him, it all sounded too much like the dribble Trelawney had preached back at Hogwarts, nonsense related to auras and perceptions and the past.

But, bloody hell, he _knew_ there was something wrong with this building.

Something painful. Something lost. Something that only existed on the faint edge of an echo.

What had happened here?

"Hey!" Officer Bennett tugged at his arm, and Draco was surprised to find her features lax with concern. "Are you okay?"

Draco shook his head viciously, hoping to dispel the thread of unease that had suddenly settled in his mind. "Yeah. I'm just…tired…I don't know."

Bennett touched his forehead gently, peering into his eyes. "Mr. Malfoy, look at me. Do you feel sick?"

Once more, Draco was lost for words. He stared over her shoulder at the unattractive, three storey structure. It had the look of every cookie-cutter public Muggle school he had encountered in England during trips to London with his parents. The grimy windows were high and narrow, the sills made of mottled wood. A squat staircase led up to the front door, nearly hidden behind the obligatory sign on the lawn that read MIDWICH ELEMENTARY GRADES K-8.

A flurry of motion finally distracted Draco. Bennett had removed her mask and was fitting it over his face.

"Breathe," she said, "through the mask, okay?"

He blinked, shocked by this sudden self-sacrificing act. "What about you?" he asked.

"I'll be alright."

Draco felt the sense of awkwardness thicken between them as they started down the street again. Breath muffled and hot against his cheeks, he sighed deeply.

"What's your name?"

"Huh?" Bennett was obviously pretending not to have heard his question.

"Your name." He repeated, feeling horrifically uncomfortable.

The cop scratched her nose. "Cybil."

"Oh." Draco almost wished he hadn't asked, as now he felt even more at a loss of what to say.

Fortunately, Cybil spoke for him. "We have to be careful," she said, as they drew even with the school. "Half of these buildings should be condemned. Stay close and don't go tramping all over the floor."

Draco followed her up the staircase and watched as she forced the front door open. In his pocket, he noticed the weight of the brass doorknob striking against his thigh. The image of the Dark Mark sent a shrill wave of fear through him. What was it doing here?

The door gave way after Cybil struggled with it for a minute. She helped him inside over a pile of rubble that crowded the foyer. To their left was an old desk which sat guarding the school office.

"Wait here," Cybil instructed and she disappeared into the room.

Draco stood in the hallway, gazing up a set of stairs that led to the second floor. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine dozens of children rushing through the corridor to their classrooms, but found he could only picture vague shadows and whispers of forgotten taunts.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to come here after all, he thought. He wondered if he could talk Cybil into leaving when she came back into the hall, another flashlight in hand.

"Look what I found in a desk drawer," she said and waved it in the air triumphantly. "I tried it and it works, so put it in your pocket. I can't carry two flashlights and you never know, you might need it."

Draco took the flashlight from her, maneuvering his cuffed hands just so he could stuff it into his pants' pocket.

"Thanks," he muttered, still wishing he had his wand to light the way.

Cybil moved down the hall and tested the first few stairs carefully, shaking the skinny banister with all her might.

"It seems sound," she concluded, "and it's the only way to the roof."

They took the stairs slowly, stopping once on the second floor to check the strength of the next set.

Draco disliked the caged feel he got from climbing through the school. The spaces between the banisters had been blocked with heavy chain link to keep any student from falling. But to him, the safeguard seemed more sinister than anything else. He thought back to Hogwarts and the magical shifting staircase that certainly had a mind of its own. For once, he almost wished he was back there, even with Potter and his Mudblood lot.

On the third floor, the stairs ended abruptly and they were forced to make their way along the dusty corridor. Empty classrooms seemed to watch them as Cybil looked for the door to the roof.

Draco felt awfully vulnerable walking down the hall so blindly, so he nestled himself against the wall space between two classrooms and waited. But across the corridor, through the cracked glass window of a door, he saw something that made his heart drop straight down to his toes.

The Dark Mark.

It had been pinned up above the blackboard, in plain sight, slightly distorted by the dirty glass.

"Hey," he called to Cybil.

She came back down the hall to join him.

"What is it?"

Draco didn't reply at once, but struggled to fish the door knob out of his pocket. "In there," he said at last. "Look."

Cybil followed his gaze inside the classroom, nodding sharply as soon as she saw what hung above the blackboard.

"The marking on your arm," she said.

Draco twisted his hands and managed to extract the door knob from his pocket. Stepping forward, he easily inserted it into the empty socket with a secure click.

Cybil exhaled. "Well, would you look at _that_. What a coincidence."

Draco knew what she was suggesting, her innuendo ringing clear in his strained ears._ She thinks I've been here before_, he thought, nudging the door until it opened with a tortured creak.

He made to move inside but the cop stopped him.

"I'll go first," she said and she tested the floor of the classroom, her footsteps muffled by years of grime.

At last, she looked up at the blackboard at the Dark Mark, face screwed in a thoughtful frown.

"The righteous shall devour the wicked."

"Huh?" Draco walked inside and tried to get a better look at the mark. It was picture, printed on yellowed paper and stuck to the wall with a rusty thumb tack. A green, poisonous looking snake slithered inside a man's open mouth and beneath the head was scrawled _'The Righteous Shall Devour The Wicked'._

He swallowed, hard. For all the similarities between the picture and the brand on his arm, he couldn't properly reconcile the two images with each other. For one thing, the man's head was not a skull, but a wide-eyed, fearsome looking fellow with the pale skin of the moon.

"It's not the same," he said aloud.

Cybil turned on him. "What do you mean?"

Draco shook his head, frustrated. "I don't know. The picture, it's different somehow…"

Cybil crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you not telling me?"

Her voice was insistent, and Draco knew he wouldn't be able to hold out for long. He strolled down one aisle of dusty desks.

"I think I've been more than fair with you," she continued, now sounding angry. "Can you at least have the decency to 'fess up and let me know what's going on?"

Draco didn't like the way the desks were so neatly lined up. The inherent sense of order, of strict routine made his fingers begin to tremble, wishing he had his wand to blast his way through the filthy building. Old floorboards creaked beneath his stained trainers and for one insane moment, Draco thought he heard a child moaning.

"Look at me," Cybil demanded, her voice edged with a new frustration he had not heard before. "I'm trying to help you here, alright. If you'd just…"

But Draco wasn't listening. He'd come to the end of one aisle and stopped by the second to last desk. Unlike the others, the smooth wooden surface bore more than dust.

Draco dared to touch the top of it, cold terror slithering through his veins like venom. The carving was crude, no more than mere scratches, but he could still make out the word.

_Witch_

He clutched the edge of the desk with his cuffed hands and tried to steady himself. The world was tilting, his eyes rolling back from exhaustion and fear. Draco bit his lip until he tasted blood.

_Witch_

The word was more than a title, it was a charm, a mental portkey that pulled his mind, down, down, down into the darkness, into smoke, into fire, into pain.

_Pain_

Sweat beaded his brow, and before Draco knew what he was doing, his fingers were struggling with the lid of the desk, lifting it up, revealing what lay inside beneath the unremarkable exterior.

At first, he thought his vision was blurred, and he was seeing little more than a mass of blank paper. But after a moment, after blinking away the sting of soot, he saw the wand.

It was made of yew, and what the core was he couldn't tell. And unlike his wand or any other wand he knew, did not have a handle.

Slowly, he reached for it, elated by the prospect of once more being able to produce magic but strangely haunted by the eerie sheen of the thing.

The Dark Lord's wand, after all, had been made of yew….

"Hey!" Cybil was striding over to him, her eyes narrowed with annoyance and just a drop of trepidation.

Draco snatched up the wand before she could see it.

"I don't appreciate your attitude," she muttered and when he had stepped back, slammed the lid of the desk down.

In doing so, Draco once more had a clear view of the classroom and the hall outside.

Standing in the shadow of the door he saw a girl.

It took a moment for him to actually marry reality and confusion in his mind, but when he did at last, the child turned and fled.

"Wait…hey, come back!" And then he was barreling out of the room after her, ignorant of Cybil's order to stop.

* * *

[1] Taken from "Forsaken" by _The Dreamside_.


	9. Chapter Nine The Man in the Mask

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Nine The Man in the Mask**

Draco was running, as senseless as he might be under the Imperius Curse. Vaguely, he was aware of Cybil's shouts echoing down the stairwell above him, her furious cries to stop.

Arrogant certainty welled in the pit of his stomach. He knew her threats were empty. But that didn't matter. Nothing did.

Around the frame of a decaying door, he saw the hint of a heel. The child was a few tantalizing paces in front of him. And he needed to see her, just as he needed to suck stale air into his beleaguered lungs.

"Wait!" he shouted, his voice a pathetic bleat. Raising his arms, Draco barreled through a door and fell into a courtyard.

He knees protested with pain as he hit the jagged pavement, his jeans shredding with a snarl. Blood trickled down his shins. Grunting, he pushed himself to his feet and glanced past a set of rusty swings.

The girl was gone.

But she had been there, yes, he'd _seen _her. A solid being. Definite. No ghost, no trick of the deceptive fog.

And yet she had disappeared.

Cybil was on his heels, the door to the courtyard slamming behind her with a metallic thud.

Draco felt her gun pressed to the small of his back.

"Jesus," she panted, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

Deftly, she jammed her firearm back into her hostler and looped her arms through his, holding him tightly. "Are you gonna run from me again? Huh?"

She shook him, and Draco felt her anger permeate through his body.

"No," he said, the word riding on a sigh. "I wasn't…there was a girl."

"What?"

"Didn't you see her? She was in the classroom."

Her grip loosened. "No." Confusion jumped into her voice, raising it an octave.

"I saw her," Draco insisted, glancing once over his shoulder at Cybil.

Her forehead was slick with sweat.

"She was real. A kid, no more than ten years old."

Cybil's eyes hardened with skepticism, glittering furiously beneath her narrow brows. "You're hallucinating. It's the fumes."

A dam burst in Draco, spilling the floodwaters of frustration and fear eagerly throughout his body. He pulled free from her grasp and turned.

"No! She _was_ real!"

Cybil grabbed his arm once more, but this time, her grip was gentle.

"Come on," she said quietly. "Let's rest for a minute."

Draco felt deflated, but said nothing. He let her lead him over to the swings and guide him down to sit against the creaking frame.

They didn't speak for a long while, and Draco took advantage of the silence to let his weary head drop, his eyes fluttering closed against the hissing fog that swirled around them.

None of it made any sense. None of it. The Dark Mark. The graffiti covered desk. The wand.

The wand!

How could he have forgotten? Draco squirmed slightly where he sat and then looked up at Cybil carefully. She was staring over his head at the courtyard and the four walls of the school around them, a slumbering, grey ogre of a building.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the handle.

Perhaps he could Apparate now, without her knowing.

And leave her here? His conscience gnawed at him.

_I'll bring back help._

Slowly, he raised himself up on his knees and dragged one foot out from under him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned, letting the magic that flowed through his blood reach the solemn core of the wand and unite.

He closed his eyes and envisioned his lakeside cottage.

Nothing happened.

Draco bit his lip and cursed under his breath. Groaning, he stood. Cybil glanced at him.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." He shrugged casually. "My legs were getting cramped. I just need to stretch."

She looked away, satisfied.

Once more he gripped the wand and once more he turned.

_The lakeside cottage_, he thought, his nostrils dilating to smell the moldy wooden porch.

He crashed clumsily into the swing set and sent the chains flailing.

"God," Cybil steadied him. "Are you _sure_ you're alright?"

Draco flushed and let go of the wand. "Yeah, I'm-"

But he didn't get to finish, for somewhere beyond the school a siren blared and the bleak sky spilt into darkness.

Cybil's breathing quicken. "It's happening again," she rasped.

Draco saw her reach for her gun and he, in turn, grasped the handle of his wand, the tip of which only just protruded from his pocket. He strained to keep his eyes open as oily rain pelted his cheeks. The siren continued blaring for a full minute, a lone sound amongst the desolate patter of droplets on cement.

And then it happened.

It was like nothing he had seen before, no magic he could account for or conjure by his own will.

The world around them changed.

Beneath his feet, the once solid pavement of the courtyard fractured. Slabs of stone cracked and tumbled into a fiery abyss below.

_Hell_, Draco thought for an instant. _It must be Hell._

The school building itself shed bricks and paint, the windows now crossed with iron bars as thick as a man's wrist. And behind him, the swing set eroded into a demon's play thing, the chains made of barbed wire, the seats jagged steel.

Draco leapt away with a pained cry as the wire bit into his back.

The siren faded.

Cybil quickly switched on her flashlight, the lone beam piercing the darkened courtyard like a surgeon's knife through flesh. Draco remembered the one she had given him earlier and to avoid using his wand, turned it on and directed the light into her face.

The cop was blanched with terror.

"What the hell?" she said.

Draco shook his head. "We need to find shelter. It's not safe for us…out in the open." In the very core of his being, he knew that the phenomenon had some dark origin. The air was laced with the acrid smell of smoke and ozone, so similar to the cold stench that had followed the Dark Lord wherever he went.

Cybil grabbed his arm again, though Draco sensed this was more to keep them from getting separated than anything else.

"Back inside," she said. "We'll go back inside."

It took them several minutes to cross the courtyard and find their way back to the door. The ground was unstable and any misstep spelled disaster as the heat from the flames below teased the soles of their shoes.

Draco had to help Cybil haul open the door this time. For some reason, it seemed impossibly heavy. Inside the hallway, the skeletal stairs rose above them in an incoherent tangle. From somewhere far off, the indistinct whir of fan blades set Draco's every nerve on edge.

Flashlight wavering in his hand, his gaze fell on Cybil. She was checking her firearm again.

"I only have two mags left," she said, in a tone that suggested both vulnerability and despair.

He thought back to the beast that had attacked him in the firehouse and shuddered. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around his wand.

The incessant whirring grew louder, now more defined and uneven.

"Do you hear that?" Draco asked, willing his voice to be steady.

Cybil listened for a minute. "It's coming closer."

"We can't stay here."

"We don't have a choice."

Draco pressed himself against the door, his ears now detecting a vicious scratching, the sound of thousands of small feet on the stairs above. The noise rushed down towards them in an unforgiving tidal wave, and he swung his flashlight in the direction of the second landing, hoping to catch a warning glimpse of the terror he knew was coming.

Insects, the size of a large hand, were clustered in an innumerable swarm.

Already, he could hear the gnashing of their tiny, yet sharp teeth, and the cloud of black spilled down the steps with alarming speed.

As one, both Cybil and he threw themselves against the courtyard door.

Inexplicably, it was locked.

"No!" Cybil cried and she raised her leg, planting a firm kick upon the hinges.

The door rattled, but refused to give way.

The swarm was on the first landing now and Draco heard their hungry jaws snapping like piranhas, their breath poisoned with the stench of rotted human flesh.

Without a thought, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at the jammed knob.

_Please_, he begged any merciful deity. _Please work._

"_Alohomora,_" he intoned.

The door opened just as Cybil kicked it a second time.

Draco pushed her outside and once they were clear of the hall, shouted, _"Colloportus!"_

The door swung shut, crushing the first of the insects and reducing them to grayish slime.

"I don't think it'll hold them for long," he said, hands braced against the doorframe that was now seething and straining.

Cybil swung her flashlight over the courtyard and Draco followed her gaze, searching for the second door they had missed before.

But the four walls alone surrounded them, garish and ungainly in the scarlet light that crept up through the wounds in the pavement.

"We're trapped," Draco said hopelessly. The very steel of the door bulged and discreetly, he pointed his wand at the surface and murmured a reinforcing spell.

Cybil shook his shoulder. "Look!" She was pointing at a large grate stuck in the far wall and started across the yard at a run. Draco watched helplessly as her hands snapped over the rusty bars and pulled. The arms in her muscles clenched, her back arching as she pulled.

It was no use, he realized. He'd have to blow the bars off.

Draco took a step towards her, releasing the groaning door behind him for a instant.

It was a mistake.

The hinges snapped, rebelling against the spell he had cast.

He was knocked to the ground, barely managing to scramble away in time as the door fell forward. From somewhere in the distance, he heard Cybil racing towards him, shouting.

"Draco!"

He had expected the horde of bugs, had excepted them to pour from the building like a torrent of angry sea water. What he saw was a massive figure, no less than seven feet tall, striding towards him.

It could have been human, or may have been at one time, before the darkness had taken it and shaped it tortuously into a mimicry of life.

The body was that of a man, the arms huge and bare, gloved hands wielding a knife longer than Draco was tall. Around his torso, there was a butcher's smock.

For the first time, Draco heard Cybil utter a primal cry of terror.

The creature had no head, save for a conical shaped helmet made of girded iron. He grunted fiercely, raised his knife and let it fall in a graceless arc.

Instinctively, Draco tucked in his arms and legs and rolled over. The flashlight slipped from his grasp and was neatly severed by the creature's blade.

Stumbling, his feet numb from shock, Draco stood and ran aimlessly away. To his right, he was vaguely aware of the sound of gunfire. Cybil was emptying her handgun of bullets in quick attempt to stop the monster.

He looked over his shoulder once and saw three splice through a leg. The creature's left knee buckled, but he soon straightened himself by leaning on the long handle of his knife. Steam poured from beneath the helmet and a moan followed.

Draco raced to the grated vent Cybil had found and whipped out his wand.

"Come on!" he called.

She was pushing another mag into the butt of her gun.

"Leave it!" he screamed.

The creature lumbered closer.

Cybil gave up the fight and joined him by the grate, her face ashen and drenched with a putrid mix of sweat and bitter rain.

"It's jammed," she panted hopelessly. "We won't be able to budge it."

Draco bit down on his lower lip until he drew blood.

The monster was halfway across the courtyard now, his shattered knee snapping with the sound of broken cartilage.

And in that instant, Draco forgot every law against using magic in front of Muggles. _Let the Ministry be damned_, he thought viciously and pointed his wand at the creature.

"_Impedimenta!" _He wasn't sure if the spell would even work and experienced a surge of triumph when the enemy slowed a fraction.

In his gut, although, he sensed that the most powerful combative spell he could cast wouldn't do much harm. No, they needed to outrun this thing.

Draco squinted and peered into the vent. A thin trickle of water gurgled through it and the space was wide enough to accommodate one of them at a time.

"Move!" he ordered Cybil, who was staring at him with growing confusion.

He set his wand against the bars. "_Reducto!"_

After a moment of furious concentration, they blasted apart.

"Christ," Cybil murmured.

Draco whispered "_Lumos"_ and lit the tip of his wand.

"Go ahead."

The tunnel yawned open before them, belching fumes, slick with stagnant water.

Cybil glanced once at the creature struggling towards them and gave Draco a hard push in the back. He was propelled, head-first, into the tunnel, the chain of his handcuffs scraping the greasy bottom.

"_Go_," she barked, climbing in after him.

Draco didn't need telling twice. Behind him, he could hear the monster's great knife being dragged across the concrete, the serrated edge sending up a shower of sparks that only just reached the mouth of the vent.

Cybil was crawling towards him on her elbows, one hand still locked over her gun. With her other hand, she directed her flashlight's beam ahead of them.

Draco followed her example and squirmed forward on his belly. The smell was nauseating. Sludge soaked his jeans and his trainers squealed with every jerk of his body.

The light from his wand illuminated a curving passage. He started to twist his body around the bend when Cybil screamed.

The creature had reached one muscle-bound forearm into the vent and grabbed her ankle. She didn't have time to react. Slipping on the grime, she was pulled like a rag doll towards the opening.

Panic thumping in his chest, Draco pointed his wand at the arm and shouted, "_Axelo!_" He slashed his wand downward, hoping against hope that the curse had hit home.

The arm spasmed wildly, loosing Cybil's ankle. Before it could withdraw entirely, she fired a parting shot which struck the taut flesh between the thumb and forefinger. The forearm lashed around blindly, smacking the walls of the tunnel and producing a distorted echo.

Suddenly, the edge of the great knife sliced through the opening and Cybil groaned. Her calf had been slashed open.

Draco reached down and grabbed her by the collar. Furiously, he worked his way through the tunnel, not daring to look back as a thin ray of light stretched before him.

After a tortuously long minute, they came to the end, and Draco forced himself against another steel grate. Surprisingly, the bars bent beneath his shoulder and the barrier swung open like a gate. Both Cybil and he tumbled out into the Midwich parking lot.

They lay on the hard concrete for a moment. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sudden assault of light to fade. But then he snapped his eyes open and sat straight up.

The town had changed again. Buildings stood intact, the ground was healed of fissures. Overhead, the same grey sky rained soot.

Cybil panted shallowly next to him, the wound on her leg bright with fresh blood.

Draco touched her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Just my leg," she muttered, clenching her teeth. "I…I don't know if I can walk."

Draco dragged himself closer to her and inspected the gash. "I'm gonna take a look, okay?"

She nodded breathlessly and shut her eyes.

Draco inspected the cut, prodding gently at the torn flesh with the tip of his wand. Thankfully, the bone didn't seem to be broken.

He looked once at Cybil, saw her face contract in pain. A sigh fluttered past his lips.

There was no going back now. She had seen him do magic already. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed her help if he was going to get out of this alive.

"_Episkey_," he said and watched as the skin sealed itself up, leaving a narrow, red scar.

Cybil gasped and forced herself up on her elbows. She patted her leg unbelievingly. "How did you…?"

He stared at her, offering no explanation as her face tightened with utter confusion.

"What are you?" she asked at last.

Draco looked away and saw, standing a mere three feet away from them, the girl he had chased out of the school.


	10. Chapter Ten The Gillespie House

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Ten The Gillespie House**

_This voice_

_Is it calling_

_Is it calling _

_It's your choice_

_She said_

_Take or let go_

_Is it calling? [1]_

Time stood still, laying in stagnant folds about them. Draco saw Cybil's jaw slacken, her eyes widen, staring at the girl that stood a few mere feet away.

A ghost she was not, he knew that for certain. The child possessed a body of flesh and bones just as he did. And yet, there was something unreal about her.

Dark hair spilled down past her shoulders, rendering her oval face almost too pale. She was wearing a blue starched dress, white stockings and tiny buckled shoes. Her gaze was plaintive.

Draco felt his body spasm as a chill jumped up his spine. He reached for Cybil, wanting to squeeze her arm, to let her know that he had been telling the truth, that this was the child he had chased out of the classroom. Glancing once at the cop's face, he realized she already knew.

Slowly, Cybil was struggling to her feet, an arm outstretched in awkward greeting.

"Hi there," she said and Draco marveled at her composure. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

The girl did not respond. Instead, she blinked, the movement of her eyes reptilian, disturbing.

"I'm a police officer," Cybil continued. She pointed to the patch sewn onto her sleeve. "You don't have to be scared of me. Do you know where your mommy is?"

Something was wrong. Draco felt as though he had to warn Cybil. He hurried to a stand.

"_Cybil!"_

She waved him away.

The girl watched them in unnerving silence.

"Can you come here?" Cybil tried again. "I just want to talk to you, I just-"

And then the child was gone, the only sign of her presence carrying back to them in a faint echo of running feet.

"God," Cybil moaned, the sound coming from somewhere deep within her. "God, my God!" She took off after the girl.

Draco had no choice but to follow. He raced after her, his bones protesting heartily with every feverish step. Somehow, he mustered the strength to continue.

Cybil glanced back once to make sure he was behind her. "Which way did she go?" she cried.

Draco shook his head, already winded. They turned out of the Midwich parking lot and back onto the street. Down by the corner, a small blue figure darted between two buildings.

Cybil caught sight of her first and pursued her fleeting form. The girl was surprisingly swift for such a young child, and Draco was forced to fight growing unease with each stride. Something was wrong here. The girl, like the town, was not _natural_.

After being led out onto the Main Street, their course veered straight back off into a side alley, through a playground, down a residential block. The figure in blue stopped for an instant in front of a house halfway down the street, then disappeared.

Draco blinked his eyes. Impossible! She couldn't have Apparated, could she?

He drew even with Cybil and bent over his knees, panting. "We'll never catch her."

"But where did she go?" Cybil whirled around desperately.

"Disappeared."

"Yeah right."

With difficulty, he straightened. "Unless, she wanted to lead us here." He regarded the building on his left.

The house was two stories with clapboard and a predictable picket fence. It looked yellow and brittle, like a piece of parchment left in the sun too long. Cybil stepped through the gate and walked up the cement path, placing a hand on a post supporting the porch. Leaning forward, she peered over the stairs and through the open door inside.

Draco hesitated before following her. A dark, sickly feeling crept over him with all the deadly stealth of a Lethifold. There was graffiti all over the siding, wicked looking words in black paint. He squinted, trying to make them out.

_Sinner_

_Witch_

_Death Eater_

A rush of raw energy streaked through him. So here it was at least, the thing he had been most trying to escape, to hide from.

It had found him.

Cybil climbed onto the porch and peered in through the curtainless windows. "Gillespie," she muttered, reading the name inscribed on the rusted mailbox by the door.

Draco didn't recognize the name and was glad for it. Rolling his sore shoulders, he stumbled up onto the porch. "Do you think she's in there?" he asked.

Cybil didn't respond, keeping her lips pressed together in a tight, decisive line.

He knew what she was thinking. They wouldn't find the girl inside the house. Draco wondered if he had indeed hallucinated the child, but then how could both he and Cybil have seen the same thing?

"Let's go take a look around," she said. "Maybe we'll find you another flashlight." There was a forced nonchalance to her voice.

Draco thought back to the creature who had sliced his flashlight clean in half and shuddered. He didn't understand the forces at work in this town and that frightened him.

Cybil led the way into the house. A hall stretched back to the kitchen. It was empty save for a set of cobwebby stairs and a two legged side table that lay on the wooden floor. To the left was the living room, to the right a dining room. In the latter, a table with four chairs and a dusty wine glass stood in front of a chipped buffet with a cluttered hutch. The living room had only a sagging couch and a threadbare area rug. There was an ancient TV on a metal stand under the window, its antenna twisted and askew.

They searched the two main rooms and found nothing but empty drawers, old magazines and stained knickknacks. Before going up the stairs, Cybil led Draco into the kitchen. A fold-up table with a sticky plastic cloth took up most of the space in the cramped area. The refrigerator was doorless and otherwise empty save for a dead light bulb and several grimy shelves.

Cybil moved over to the sink and tried the faucet. They were both surprised by the sudden rumble of pipes that shook the dilapidated house. After a moment, brackish water poured from the faucet.

"I'll be damned," Cybil laughed. "After all these years." She let it run for several minutes until the water came out clear. They took turns washing their faces and hands.

Draco hissed when the cold water first hit him, but enjoyed its invigorating touch nonetheless. He scrubbed the blood from his brow with a grimace as Cybil opened up cabinets.

When he was finished, he straightened and wiped his hands on his dirty jeans. Above the sink was a rack of pots. He glanced at them briefly, shocked to see a familiar shape hanging between a colander and sauce pan.

At first, he mistrusted his eyes and put it down to delusional thinking. It couldn't be!

_But then again, I did find the wand_.

Carefully, he lifted the pewter cauldron from the rack and inspected it. Bloody hell, it was in near mint condition. He could still see the engraving on the bottom. Spotts and Spencers. They were the foremost cauldron manufacturers in North America. He even remembered Snape having a few of their products in his dungeons.

First the wand and now this. Silent Hill had had at least once magical family, though why a wizard would be displaced amongst Muggles he couldn't…

Draco's train of thought was jarred by the sudden, crashing reality of his own predicament. He was here, wasn't he? Why shouldn't others have come before him?

Before he had time to think the matter over, Cybil let out a low whistle of shock.

"Jeez, look at this," she said, holding open a cabinet door on the other side of the sink.

Draco crouched beside her and squinted past thick cobwebs. There were dozens of small, corked bottles in the compartment and he knew immediately what they were.

Cybil didn't. She reached for one and withdrew it, her thumb and index finger pressed against the short neck of the vial. Inside were several dried green leaves. "I've never seen anything like this before," she muttered. "I would say it's a narcotic of some sort…but, hell, it almost looks like mint."

"Close," Draco said and took the bottle from her. "It's fluxweed, a plant native to this part of the country." _And it's used in the Polyjuice Potion_, he thought.

They went through a few other bottles, containing frog parts, hellebore and leeches. Draco identified each substance correctly, much to Cybil's shock.

"Holistic stuff," he concluded at length and closed the cabinet door, feeling as though he had said too much.

Cybil stared at him. Draco was expecting her to ask just how he knew so much about the ingredients, but she didn't. Instead, she twisted her head about and glanced into the empty hall. "What kind of place is this?"

Draco said nothing.

Cybil turned back around and studied the closed cabinet door. "I've never seen stuff like that before," she said slowly, "not even in a drug lab."

Desperately wanting to change the subject, Draco stood. "Do you want to check upstairs?"

Cybil sighed and pushed herself to her feet, groaning slightly. "Might as well."

The staircase was not wide, and Draco was forced to take the lead while Cybil followed. Once upstairs, they found the second storey quite the same as the first. There was a scattering of old furniture, a bathroom at the end of the hall, and two small bedrooms on the other side of the stairs.

They went to the bathroom first, and he sat down on the rim of the claw-footed tub while Cybil searched the medicine cabinet. "We're out of luck," she said, knocking several plastic bottles into the sink basin below. "I was hoping for a first aid kit." She tossed him one of the containers.

Draco read the label aloud. "Aspirin."

"Yeah. Check the expiration date on the bottom though."

"September of '75."

Cybil grunted. "Talk about a time warp."

"I guess." Draco set the aspirin on the back of the toilet.

The first bedroom they entered was the larger of the two. There was a moth-eaten blanket on the bed. Draco could just about discern a pattern of flowers on it beneath the layer of dust. The dresser was empty save for a pair of cracked reading glasses that sat on the top. In opening the closest door, they found a pair of snow boots and one hanger.

Cybil sighed. "This place has been cleaned out. The owners probably left town the night of the fire, took what they could with them."

Draco stared at the reading glasses and suddenly thought of Potter. "It's an odd sight," he admitted, more to himself than his companion. "Life interrupted."

The second bedroom down the hall was more intact than the first. As soon as they entered, Draco realized it must have been a child's room.

_A girl's_.

His gut squirmed as he took in the pink, patterned wallpaper, the lacey pillows and bedspread. On the nightstand, he found a picture frame. After cleaning the glass with his sleeve, he held it up for Cybil to see.

They both said nothing for a long minute.

"That's her," she said at last. "The girl. It's her, isn't it, Draco?"

Draco flipped the frame around and undid the rusty latches in the back. The flimsy picture slipped out, and he let the frame drop down onto the bed.

A girl with dark hair. An oval face. Empty eyes. The same blue dress. On the back, he found a scribbled name and date.

"Alessa in front of Midwich Elementary," he read. "1974."

"The year of the fire," Cybil replied solemnly and took the picture from him. "But that was over twenty years ago."

Draco's mind worked furiously against logic. It didn't make any sense. The child they had spotted was no more than nine. He glanced at the nightstand once more and saw the edge of a notebook protruding from underneath a copy of _Mary Poppins_. Sliding the children's book off the top, he snatched up the notebook, eyes widening as he flipped through the pages.

_Dear Diary…_

_Dear Diary…_

_Dear Diary…_

"Hey," he began, his voice dying as the stairs outside the room creaked.

Cybil whirled around, dropping the photograph. A gasp froze against Draco's teeth.

There was a ghost in the room with them, a woman in mottled rags, a puppet on unseen strings with the eyes of a Seeress. She smelled of soot and sky and emptiness. And her head, crowned with sticky strings of matted grey hair, was twisted in a questioning angle.

Draco felt his knees go weak as he was confronted by a living shadow, something he could not account for in his muddled mind. Overwhelmed by sudden sorrow, he leaned against the bed. The atmosphere had turned from stale to tremulous and the change left him weak.

Cybil dropped her hand from the butt of her gun.

The woman moved further into the room, her feet shuffling under her tattered robes, one shaking hand outstretched to touch the discarded photo on the bed. "Can you tear the scales from my eyes?" she said, her voice thin and old. "I am blinded in the dark."

Unwanted questions crawled up Draco's throat. "Who are you?' he asked, unable to hold them back for fear of choking.

"They disturb my house," the woman replied, "and they shall inherit the wind."

Cybil shifted away from her, a look of uncharacteristic pity on her face. "Gillespie," she said, repeating the name on the front of house.

The woman glanced up at the cop with diluted eyes. "I am Dahlia."

"Dahlia." Draco fancied the name was charmed, a thing once spoken and then regretted.

Dahlia's eyes met his. "Cassandra cried for Troy. Can you see as she did?"

"No." Draco felt Cybil's gaze on him, but continued on anyway. "I can't."

"We are all lost in the dark," Dahlia said knowingly. She let one long nail trail over the face in photograph and then drew back quickly, as if it burned.

Cybil let out a shuddering breath. "This is your house?"

"It is a shell. A corpse with no heart."

"But you've lived here? Since the fire?"

Dahlia stepped away from the bed, her head now bent, draped in a filthy veil of hair. "Since the fire?" she echoed. "I am _damned_."

Draco stared at her, recognizing madness where he saw it, but no evil intent. This woman was not wicked like his aunt Bellatrix, but her mind was gone. The light had left her. Nervously, he jammed his hand in his pocket and touched the tip of his scavenged wand.

Dahlia suddenly went rigid. "Yes!" she cried, raising her voice until it was throaty and strange. "I remember it now! What was lost….found…"

Draco recoiled as her arm lashed out and grabbed his wrist.

Cybil moved forward. "Hey!"

Dahlia ignored her, tracing a long line up Draco's arm. "I can feel it in your blood even now. Salvation or damnation? It is for the Dark One to decide."

Again, her eyes met his and Draco understood. _She knows I'm a wizard_.

Dahlia let him go, her face now pinched with urgency and fear. "Heed me," she said, speaking to both him and Cybil. "The flock is in hiding, but they will find you. Run from them. They are deceivers, and they are deceived. They are _damned,_ and you will burn in their fires. Burn, burn." A sob choked off her last word and she looked at the picture on the bed once more. "They took my child from me."

Draco glanced over Dahlia's trembling head at Cybil. Her eyes were narrowed, nostrils slightly flared. He recognized her expression. It was the same one she'd worn when she pulled him over on the highway. Skepticism warred with caution.

"Your child?" Cybil said at last, stirring the uneasy silence. Carefully, she reached out and pointed to the photograph. "Is she your daughter, Dahlia?"

Dahlia lovingly bent over the picture. "Alessa."

_Alessa_. Draco felt the name hit him square in the chest like a stunning spell.

_Alessa, _with her long dark hair and dangerous eyes.

"We've seen her," he said.

Dahlia stared at them. "Can you tear the scales from your eyes?" she asked.

Cybil shook her head in impatience. "We need help. Do you know what's going on here? Can we get out of this place?"

Dahlia lowered herself onto the bed, pressing her pale cheek against the photograph. "Only the Dark One opens and closes the door to Silent Hill."

"But-"

"Beware of the flock. They left their mark at the hotel. And they will take you with them."

Dahlia suddenly straightened, her eyes resting once more on Draco. "They will seek to purify what runs in your veins."

And then, like a shade, she slipped from the room.

Draco thought he heard her feet on the stairs and he watched as Cybil ran after her.

The picture had been left on the bed.

_Alessa_, he thought. _Where are you?  
_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Those of you who are familiar with Silent Hill might recognize Dahlia Gillespie here. Otherwise, just consider her another OC. ^_^

_[1]__This is an excerpt taken from Ane Brun's "This Voice" off her album _A Temporary Dive _(2004)._


	11. Chapter Eleven Burning Times

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Eleven Burning Times**

_I fell into a burning ring of fire_

_I went down, down, down and the flames went higher_

_And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire_

_The ring of fire [1]_

Draco sat on the porch of the Gillespie house, Alessa's old diary clutched in his scratched hands. Cybil had taken off after Dahlia, although he knew the cop wouldn't find her. She hadn't Apparated, no, but she was gone, disappearing into thin air like her daughter.

How?

He shifted, feeling the wand he had scavenged from the school pressing against his thigh.

_Magic_.

The Dark Mark. The wand. The cauldron and the potion ingredients. There were wizards in this town, or had been for a time.

But where had they gone?

Was it like Cybil had said, did the fire force them out along with the Muggle residents? Did they shun the town for fear of the coal mines below and the crumbling roads?

Or had they been they been chased away by very different fires?

Draco touched the cover of the marble notebook.

Alessa Gillespie, he was certain, knew everything that had happened here.

And yet she was a wraith. She _had_ to be.

Draco jumped as he heard heavy footsteps echo up the street. But it was only Cybil, rounding the corner with a customary look of disgust splashed across her face. She heaved herself up onto the porch steps and sat next to him with a thud.

"Dahlia's gone."

"I know." He turned the notebook over in his hands. "She won't help us."

Cybil turned and looked at him hard. "We have to talk."

Draco felt anxiety curdle in his gut like sour milk. So here it was. He squeezed his eyes shut against the fog for an instant, expecting incriminations, accusations. The handcuffs slid over his wrists.

"Draco," she began and he was surprised to find her voice kind, firm, but understanding. "I didn't forget what you did back there…back there at Midwich. You blasted the doors open when they were locked. You bent the bars of the grate. You…you healed my leg."

He opened his eyes. Cybil had pulled up her pants and now she ran her palm over the thin scar on her calf. Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. "How?"

He rubbed his neck with a frown. "It's difficult to explain. You woouldn't believe me."

She emitted a loud bark of laughter. "Try me."

A nervous smile made his lips tremble. Draco hesitated. He almost wanted to tell her what he was. It would make things…easier, safer and maybe, just maybe, he could save them both.

But why should he care about a stupid Muggle like her?

_Because, like it or not, she's helped me_.

Bloody hell, everything was so fucked up. He didn't know where to begin.

Cybil, however, seemed to know. She reached into her pocket and produced his broken wand.

"What is this, really?" she asked.

Draco dared to touch the damaged halves. Reluctantly, he plucked the other wand from his trousers and showed it to her.

Cybil's eyebrows darted upward. "That wasn't on you when I patted you down."

"It was in the school," he said. "I found it in a desk. It…it saved our lives."

"Is it a weapon?"

"Well, it can be. We call it a wand."

For a moment, a hint of skepticism made her face sharp. "What are you?" she said, echoing the question she had first asked him in Midwich's parking lot.

Draco shrugged. "I have abilities that Mug…er, most people don't. I can do…magic."

Her jaw tightened. "Christ."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me."

Cybil stirred fitfully. "My leg was almost severed. You fixed it. Draco," she said, pausing to sigh, "I'm not gonna judge you anymore. We're past that. I only want us…I mean, I want _you_ to trust me. Do you think you can?"

Draco tried to meet her gaze, but couldn't. Stubborn pride made him look away at the moldy planks of wood that made up the porch floor. "How do I know you would trust _me_?" he asked.

Cybil exhaled sharply and she reached for his hands. "Come here." She fitted a key from a ring into his cuffs and snapped them off.

Draco reveled in the sudden freedom of his hands. He shook his wrists, then gently kneaded the sore spots with his fingers.

"There," Cybil said. "We're both free and apparently, we're both armed. I'm not going to try and take your…wand from you." And to prove her point, she handed him back the broken pieces of his old wand. "You can keep these too."

Draco was surprised by the gratitude that welled up within him. "Thanks," he mumbled. There was an awkward moment of silence. In the chaos of being attacked and chasing Alessa through the streets, he had quite forgotten his handcuffs. To think he could have blasted them off the minute he'd found the wand.

But then Cybil would have suspected something. Well, in truth, she already did.

After a minute, she stood up, her hands perched on the heavy belt around her waist. "I know I'm stating the obvious, but we need to find a way out of here, before that _thing _happens again."

Her words sent a chill rushing up Draco's spine. Yes, time was against them, but just how long did they have before the world shifted once more?

Dahlia had mentioned a flock. Could anyone else possibly be trapped in Silent Hill with them? She had also mentioned a hotel.

He pushed himself to his feet, putting the found wand and his old broken one into his back pocket "Look, you're going to think I'm mental-"

"I said I wouldn't judge you-"

"But I think this kid has something to do with," he trailed off, waving his hand at the empty street about them, "_this_."

"Alessa Gillespie?"

"Yes," Draco said, "I think she died in the fire."

"You think she's a ghost?"

He shrugged. "At this point, I'm not sure of anything. But isn't it strange that we've been following her all this time? She's been leading us places. The doorknob took us to the school where I found the wand. Then she let us chase her outside of Midwich to her mother's house. And look, I took this from her room." He showed her the diary. "We have to be logical about this. The next stop on the treasure map is the hotel."

Cybil laughed. "Treasure map? Wands? God." She pressed one hand against the bridge of her nose. "All right, you're probably on the money. For what it's worth, I think Dahlia told us all she could. And to be honest, I don't know where to start otherwise."

"Right," Draco replied. He had to admit, it felt good to have a plan, even if the plan wasn't exactly solid. He liked it when things were orderly, and as far as he could tell, so did Cybil.

"We need to get off the streets anyway," she said, glancing overhead at the grey sky that still rained soot. "I get the feeling it's not safe out here--even in the light."

* * *

The Grand Hotel was an imposing building for such a small town as Silent Hill. Draco couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before, standing directly in the center of town where the Main Street crossed another wide thoroughfare. It was a storey smaller than Midwich Elementary, but big and bulky nonetheless. He thought it was awkward-looking, truth be told, and out of place.

"Was Silent Hill a busy town before the fires?" he asked Cybil, who was walking by his side.

She waved her hand to indicate her uncertainty. "Kind of. There were some tourists, you know, families who came to Toluca Lake, but they mostly rented bungalows. And of course, the drug trafficking was at its height in the seventies, just before the town was abandoned. I don't really see the need for a hotel as big as this one, if that's what you mean." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "But it's an important part of Silent Hill's history."

"Why's that?"

"It's where the fire started."

Draco's mouth went dry and for some reason, his hands began to tremble. The coincidences were beginning to pile up at an alarming rate. He didn't like the way things were going one bit.

"We're gonna have to be real careful in here," Cybil said, as they forced their way through the revolving doors. "I'm surprised the building wasn't gutted entirely. The fire company must have put out the blaze on the bottom floors pretty quickly, although they weren't able to contain the spread."

The lobby was a mess, as Cybil had predicted. Draco experienced a surge of hopelessness as he surveyed the filthy front desk, shadowed by shredded upholstery and cobwebs. An old service bell had been left there to rust, along with four dozen room keys that hung on faded brass pegs.

Cybil turned on her flashlight and let the beam travel along the floor and up the main staircase.

"Now what?" she asked.

Unsure, Draco pulled out Alessa's diary and flipped aimlessly through the pages, the very last of which was dated April 1974. The paper was brittle with age and water had smeared the writing, leaving only a few words legible.

"Can you make out any of this?" he asked, showing Cybil the book.

She directed the light over the page and squinted. "_April 10, 1974_," she read."_Today at school we had a spelling bee. Cathy said I was too stupid to win and a big baby. And then the Bad Thing happened and I turned her braids into snakes. Ms. Christabella locked me in the coat closet until Mommy came and picked me up. I heard them talking in the office. Ms. Christabella said my Bad Thing was becoming a problem and that I was a danger to the other children. Mommy said that I was a good girl and couldn't help the Bad Thing. Ms. Christabella said it was all my Daddy's fault, even though he left town a long time ago. Mommy said…_" Cybil trailed off. "It's smudged after there," she said with a shrug.

Draco felt a prickling along his neck as all the tiny hairs stood on end. The innocence of the child's voice was somehow foreboding, as was her mention of the Bad Thing.

He took the book back from Cybil and struggled to read the last few lines in the entry.

"…_to the playground. Cathy says…Room 217. Mommy…hide…Bad Thing. Scary dream….fire_."

Without warning, Draco's hands began to shake.

Cybil grasped his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

It was a moment before he could say anything. A wild guess had formed in his mind and it was a terrible, horrific thing. Bile coated the back of his throat and he coughed.

_Fire_

_No, oh please no._

The book slammed shut in his hands. Draco wanted to toss it away, ugly as it was, but he fought the urge.

"Draco?" Cybil shook him once. "God, you're pale."

He flicked his dry tongue over his lips. "It's all right…I'm okay, but I think I know where we're supposed to go. Does this place have a Room 217?"

* * *

All the rooms on the second floor of the Grand Hotel had even numbers. It was like some sick joke, Draco thought, as he passed by doors marked 208 and 210. The ratty carpet caught at his feet like a Devil's Snare as he trudged along, while stale, old smoke made burning tears stream from his eyes.

Flame-scarred walls rose up around him like phantoms and out of the corner of his eye, he imagined creatures moving indistinctly in the dark.

Cybil reached the end of the hall before he did and she turned around, swinging the beam of her flashlight into his eyes. "That's it," she called, "we have 216 and 218. No 217."

Draco tugged at the sweaty collar of his jumper. "Dammit!" He'd been so sure, the feeling of certainty throbbing in his heart like poison.

He joined Cybil at the end of the hall. She ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. "What were you looking for anyway?"

Draco shook his head in disgust. "I don't know, something, I just…I was just so sure."

Cybil's lips twisted in sympathy and she folded her arms, her flashlight briefly illuminating a section of wall between rooms 216 and 218. A hint of crimson flared up.

"Wait!" Draco grabbed her wrist to steady the beam. "What was that?"

"Where?"

"There." He took the flashlight from her and shone it directly at the wall.

Cybil gasped. "My God."

It was a painting, a ghoulish, ghastly depiction of a frantic man tied to a stake. Fire engulfed his lower limbs.

Draco now felt real tears gather in his eyes.

_I was right_, he thought woefully, _but oh, I'd give almost anything to be wrong_.

"It's here," he said, laying a palm against the canvas which gave way under his touch.

Cybil dug in her pocket and produced a Swiss army knife. She gouged a hole in the canvas and tore off a great strip, large enough for them to see behind. A faded door marker glinted as Draco directed the light at it.

Room 217.

He climbed through the portrait hole first and pounded on the door until the old lock gave way. Together, he and Cybil stepped inside the room.

But oh, it wasn't a room at all, it was an arena, an amphitheater with wooden benches surrounding a blackened pit. And in the middle of it rose an iron stake, stained with ashes and the last of human life.

Draco coughed and inhaled the acrid stench of the place.

"What is this?" Cybil asked, her voice guttural and strained.

Draco knew and he hated the very knowledge of it.

"These people," he said, "were witch hunters."

* * *

_[1] From "Ring of Fire" written by Johnny Cash, June Carter and Merle Kilgore. Found on _Ring of Fire: The Best of Johnny Cash _(1963)._


	12. Chapter Twelve The Flock

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Twelve The Flock**

_There are people here_

_That would do you great harm_

_So please, just try to stay calm_

_And I'll get you through this,_

_You whisper_

_And with that, my allegiance had shifted [1] _

Draco sank slowly down onto a charred bench, his hands clenched into fists. The great iron stake swallowed his gaze like some unholy idol, reigning supreme in a wicked little town with abhorrent secrets.

So this was it, then. It all made frightful sense now. The citizens of Silent Hill had been witch hunters.

Draco forced his eyes closed. It was no wonder that he had been drawn to this place. It was natural, an instinct. How could he not have felt this pain?

Reality descended swiftly on him when Cybil touched his shoulder.

"Hey, are you all right?" she asked in a soft, subtle voice.

Draco worked a muscle in his jaw, rolling his tongue over his teeth as he did so. "The fire started because _they_ set it," he said. "I guess it got out of hand that night."

Cybil said nothing, but let the beam of her flashlight travel up along the naked post of the stake.

"It's sick," she muttered, and then, after a long pause, "are you one of them, Draco? One of the people they hunted?"

Draco did not hesitate this time. "Yes."

Cybil had no response for him. Her reaction was stolen away as the portrait hole behind them swung open with an eerie, drawn out creak.

"Hold up!" a muffled voice cried. "There's people in here."

Both Draco and Cybil whirled around. Gray light filtered into the decaying room as a trio of men shuffled through the portrait. They were each wearing old mining suits and heavy oxygen masks. Lead pipes and ancient-looking lanterns swung in their gloved fists.

"What in _the_ hell?" the same voice barked in disbelief. "We've got two of 'em."

Draco saw Cybil drop a hand onto her gun belt. "Who are you people?" she asked.

"Well, I might be inclined to ask the same thing." One of the men stripped off his mask, revealing a drawn, mottled face and thinning red hair. "Only the demon let's people into Silent Hill these days and not many at that." He raised his lantern, squinting his ratty eyes. "You from Brahms?"

"Yeah," Cybil replied shortly. "Do you live in Silent Hill? Do you know what's going on here?"

The man set his lantern on the floor and looked at his companions, offering them a dry laugh. "That's more questions than I can answer. Now I don't rightly know how you two got here, but you better come along with us to the church quick like. It isn't safe out here in the open."

"Obviously," Draco mumbled, his hackles raised.

The man glanced at him briefly, and then looked back at Cybil. "You're a police officer?"

"I am."

"And the boy?"

"Are there many more of you in town?"

The man did not prod her. "The Flock stays at the church. Christabella keeps us safe."

_The Flock._

Draco clenched his fists tighter, remembering Dahlia's warning about the Flock.

"You need to come and talk to her," the man continued. "I expect she'll want to meet you."

Cybil jutted her chin out defiantly. "We'd rather leave town. Is there a way out?"

Again, the group laughed hoarsely.

"Sorry officer, there ain't no way out of Silent Hill, not least we could figure after twenty years."

Tension coiled in Draco's chest like a vicious serpent. He thought of the Dark Mark he'd seen in the school and the wand he know pocketed. If Dahlia had sensed the magic in his blood, could these people as well?

Cybil seemed to take notice of his trepidation.

"We're not going anywhere just yet," she said, only to be cut off by the warning peals of the air raid siren.

Draco jumped and collided with Cybil. She caught him and helped him to steady himself. The men looked around wildly.

"Dammit!" the red haired miner cursed.

"I told you we came out too far, Christopher," a second moaned.

Christopher didn't respond, but quickly strapped his oxygen mask over his stubbly muzzle. "You folks need to come with us _now_," he said over the shriek of the siren, "or else ya'll are gonna die."

A terrifyingly familiar sense of entrapment left Draco numb. He thought back to Midwich and the creature that had attacked him in the courtyard.

Cybil seemed to read his thoughts. In a mere instant, she half-turned and offered him a mixed look of confusion and desperation.

Draco understood.

They had no choice.

"Come on!" The miners were already through the portrait hole.

Cybil pushed Draco ahead and together, they followed the men back out to the second floor corridor, down a groaning staircase and into the lobby of the Grand Hotel. Pushing his way through the old revolving doors, Draco was at once assaulted by the all too real terror flooding the streets of Silent Hill. Overhead the grey sky churned fitfully and a rumble raised sections of pavement.

He tripped on a slab, only to be hauled up by Cybil.

"Where are we going?" he panted as she thrust him forward after the men.

"I don't know."

"Can we trust them?"

"I don't know."

Her uncertainty was out of character and made him all the more frightened. Coupled with the image of iron stake inside the hotel, he began to dread every step. But still, Draco pushed himself to follow the men, the comforting weight of his wand swinging against his thigh.

Halfway down the main avenue, the miners tore around a corner, ducked into an alley and led them into a tangled lot of old car parts.

"…not far!" Christopher called back to them, his voice cut off by the persistent wail of the siren.

Once they were out of the lot and back in the street, Draco caught sight of the church a few blocks ahead.

It was an ugly building. Tall, narrow, faded and markedly missing any emblem of religious significance. There was no Christian cross, no Moon and Crescent, no Star of David. The façade was unnervingly bare, boasting only one thin window made of stained glass.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the picture portrayed in the colored shards of glass.

The Dark Mark and below, a crowd of robed men and women trampling on broken twigs. No, not twigs, he realized. _Wands_.

Bile coated his throat.

Cybil stopped running and went back for him just as the sky began to turn black.

"We need to go, Draco," she insisted.

"They're witch hunters."

Her eyes widened with understanding. "I know."

"They've killed my kind…they'll kill me," he sputtered.

Cybil gripped his wrist. "I won't let them," she said. "I'll protect you. Do you believe me?"

For a fraction of a second he stared at her. There was no lie in her eyes, he realized. She was being sincere. And, bloody hell, he trusted her.

"Yes," he said and together, they fled into the church just as the world shifted.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was numb. Numb to the gasps of surprise. The whispered accusations. The prying of dozens of diluted eyes that condemned him as an outsider. The great doors of the church fell closed behind Cybil and he, locking them inside with a ragged group of lost souls.

_The Flock._.

Vaguely, he became away of Christopher prodding him down a few wooden steps and into the church aisle. The pews on either side were crowded with people, necks strained, hands outstretched to snatch at him.

Cybil roughly shoved her way past the onlookers and stood between Draco and them.

"Where's Christabella?" Christopher called up to the rafters, where the flickering shadows of candlelight hinted of ghostly apparitions.

And all the while, shrieks of nervous persecution rang throughout the supposed sanctuary.

"Strangers! There are strangers here!"

"The demon let them in!"

"Christabella? Where is Christabella?"

"She must see them."

Draco tried not to focus on the shouts and instead directed his attention to the unattractive features of the refuge. It was a roughly rectangular building, with the usual peeked roof and plain altar at the end of the main aisle. The walls were colored brown from low candlelight and the long, narrow windows had all been boarded up save for the stained glass above the front door. A paneled balcony wrapped around the church in a semi-circle, reached by two sets of stairs behind the first of the pews. Behind the altar was a small door, which led, he guessed, to some sort of backrooms or living quarters.

Despite his desperation to block out the haranguing cries, Draco found himself falling victim to them once more.

The people in pews began to press into the aisle and Cybil struggled to block Draco. Christopher yanked them both back, pulling them close to his body protectively.

"Christabella!" he called once more.

A woman emerged on the balcony above, raised a thin hand and muttered, "Silence."

Her voice was soft, delicate almost and Draco lifted his head in order to make out her form from amongst the shadows. He squinted, but only saw the top of her brown hair.

The church fell deathly quiet.

"What has happened?" Christabella asked, her voice louder this time, ringing with some dark authority that made Draco shiver.

"Strangers!" The question was answered by several cries from the crowd.

Christopher pushed them both forward. "We found them in the Grand Hotel," he said. "They say they're from Brahms."

"But why would the demon let them in?" someone called.

Christabella raised her thin hand once more. "Bring them to me. I will speak with them."

And as she had ordered, the people in the pews shrank back into the shadows and Christopher shepherded Draco and Cybil up the aisle, dumb and deaf to the desperate grimness of the sanctuary.

* * *

Up close, Christabella was not nearly as impressive as she first had seemed. Draco had a better opportunity to observe her as he was seated with Cybil at a table in a backroom. They had been placed in what looked like an old kitchen, though the knives hanging from a rack in the corner looked too sinister to be common utensils.

Christabella joined them through a back door and she greeted them with a tight, unnatural smile that made Draco draw back a little.

Christopher alone remained in the room with them, guarding the door back into the main church.

Clearly, they were trapped.

Christabella stood before them on the opposite side of the table, a small, slight woman in a plain blue dress and heavy, low-heeled shoes. She wore her collar high and buttoned tightly and her graying brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun.

Perhaps she might have been considered an attractive woman in her youth, although her skin seemed to be stretched too tightly over her sharp cheekbones. And there was an air of Puritanical simplicity about her, one that made Draco think of a strict schoolmistress.

Following Cybil's example, he kept his hands folded on the table and watched the woman's every move.

Christabella, in turn, observed them for several minutes before speaking.

"You must forgive the rather hostile reception," she said at length, her voice quiet once more. "We are not accustomed to strangers in Silent Hill. Please, tell me your names."

Cybil, thankfully, answered for them both.

"I'm Officer Cybil Bennett of the Brahms Police Department," she said. "The boy is Draco Malfoy. I was escorting him back to the station when our vehicles crashed on the road outside town. We have no idea how we ended up here."

Christabella's small eyes narrowed. "Escorting him? Was he under arrest?"

"No."

Draco was stunned by Cybil's response, but grateful. With difficulty, he kept his expression neutral.

Cybil continued on, "Can you tell us what's going on here? I've been to Silent Hill before in the course of my patrols, but…we don't understand what's happened here."

Christabella nodded slowly, the glow from the single light bulb overhead making tiny wrinkles appear on her face. "Of course. The demon rarely reveals Silent Hill to strangers. I will explain things as best I can, but you have to promise to cooperate with me."

Draco noticed Cybil's eyebrows shoot upwards. "We do not mean you people any harm," she said. "We simply want to get back to Brahms."

"That may be impossible," Christabella replied, not bothering to soften the blow, "for as the demon does not allow people into Silent Hill, so does it keep us here. Myself and the Flock have been trapped for twenty years."

"Since the fire?" Draco supplied, allowing himself to speak for the first time.

Christabella's sharp gaze found him. "Yes," she said. "The fire was, after all, the demon's doing."

Cybil opened her mouth to respond, but Christabella raised her hand.

"I will try to explain," she said slowly. "You are from Brahms, Officer Bennett. I assume you know something of Silent Hill's history."

"Very little."

"Then you know nothing of the truth," Christabella continued. "This community was founded three hundred years ago by settlers from Europe, like most old towns along the East Coast of North America. And in keeping with other early settlers, these people were fleeing from persecution abroad. You see, they were very special by nature, blessed enough to be born into families with parents possessing wicked powers, but untainted themselves. And because they were pure, because they had no…_magic_, they were scorned by their sires. Exiled from their homes, they came together in search of refuge and founded Silent Hill, where only the pure could dwell."

_Squibs_, Draco thought fervently, _she's talking about squibs! This place must've been founded by them._

"For generations," Christabella continued, "the Flock was kept pure through the efforts of our ancestors. They saw to it that no wickedness would touch this place, that the town would remain free from the foulness of sorcery. We lived peacefully, happily and freely. But then the demon was spawned through wickedness, when a sorcerer came amongst the Flock and poisoned it with a child. Dahlia, sadly, was tempted by his wiles and bore a whelp, a _witch_."

Draco dared to glance at Cybil, whose shoulders were set in a firm, tense line. She realized that they were in danger. He thought back to fire blackened walls of the Grand Hotel. His guess had been right. These people were witch hunters.

"Who was the demon?" Cybil asked, her voice dripping with hardened skepticism.

"We do not speak her name," Christabella replied, her hands twitching convulsively as she sprawled them on the table before her. "We fought to control her for nine years, permitted her to live with us in harmony…but she was strong, and treacherous. By her malignant will, she set the town ablaze and trapped those whom she deemed enemies here with her. Thus it has been for twenty years. Only the demon opens and closes the door to Silent Hill. She must have let you in for a reason."

Draco sensed a hidden accusation in Christabella's words. He sank down defensively in his chair, drawing his arms tightly across his chest to protect himself.

Cybil leaned forward to address the woman.

"I told you," she said, coldly but calmly, "we came here by accident. Now can you help us find a way out or not?"

But Christabella had eyes only for Draco. She watched him closely with animalistic curiosity, her nostrils dilating as though she could smell the magic on him.

"We will offer you shelter," she said at length, "but no more."

* * *

_[1] Excerpt of "A Retinue of Moons/The Infidel is Me" from Oh Perilous World by Rasputina. Lyrics and music by Melora Creager, produced by Filthy Bonnet Co. _(2007)


	13. Chapter Thirteen First Aid

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Thirteen First Aid**

_Come on, now_

_I hear you're feeling down_

_Well I can ease your pain_

_Get you on your feet again [1]_

They were fed a questionable meal from cans. Beans, cold tomato soup and rationed crackers. Draco wasn't hungry until the slimy soup touched his lips and then he ate ravenously despite the wasted adrenaline that left his body aching.

Cybil ignored her meal and sipped water from a tin cup. After their meeting with Christabella, they were brought to a communal dining room in the basement of the church where mismatched chairs huddled around a stained folding table. Camping lanterns encircled them with bleary light.

Cybil glanced at her surroundings with a frown. "Like a fall-out shelter," she said.

"A what?" Draco asked. He stuffed a cracker into his mouth and grimaced as the raw salt burned his throat.

"Never mind." Cybil shivered. "I'm gonna get us out of here, Draco."

He let his spoon clatter into the empty bowl.

_I'm a cow in a slaughterhouse_, he thought and the very notion, the very memory of the burnt-out room in the hotel threatened to bring the soup back up onto his jumper.

_Witch Hunters_. He had read about them, of course, in Professor Binns's boring old History of Magic class. But even then, the lengthy descriptions of mass executions and the unlucky few who just happened to get caught by misguided Muggles did little to evoke the terror he now felt.

There was something disgusting about the archaic ritual seeing the light of modern day, for apparently, those of Silent Hill had burned witches rather regularly up until twenty years ago.

"You heard what Christabella said," he muttered, unable to look Cybil in the eye. "There's no way out of this place."

"I don't believe that." She waved a hand. "There has to be. And I don't care if we have to go back out _there_ to find it."

"In the dark?" Draco glanced at the flickering lantern light.

"In the dark," Cybil echoed. Suddenly, she pushed herself to her feet, circled the table and came to stand right next to Draco's chair.

"You think I don't understand," she said, her voice a vain whisper in the empty room. "But I do. You _can't_ be here, Draco."

He forced himself to look at her, allowing, for the first time, the fullness of his fear to shine through his broken eyes.

Cybil met and held his gaze. Without speaking, they managed to convey to each other the depth of the situation, trapped as they were, in the lion's den.

"Like I said," Cybil mumbled. "I'm gonna get us both out of here. I'm gonna get you-"

"Well, hallo. You folks all right in here?"

Cybil straightened at once. Draco threw himself back against his chair and protectively crossed his arms over his chest.

There was a lean, lanky man standing in the doorway, his face obscured by the uneasy shadows that darted away from the lantern's light. He was wearing a greasy blue shirt, open at the collar, corduroys and heavy workman's boots. In his hand, he held a white bag marked with a red cross.

"Christabella sent me down to see ya'll," he drawled, slipping into the dinning room and depositing his bag on the table next to their bowls and cups. "She thought you might need your injuries looked after, seeing as you're all banged up." He tapped his brow with a long finger and Draco suddenly remembered the laceration he had received during the car crash. "Name's Vincent by the way. Hi." He stuck out a hand.

Both Cybil and Draco ignored it.

"All right, then." Vincent opened his bag. "Don't worry, I've got loads of medical training. Used to work in the hospital before the fire. Nothing but a young pup then. But it comes in handy." He doused a piece of gauze with peroxide. "Just clean ya'll up, you know. Can't give you anything stronger than aspirin, though. But you don't mind, I'm sure. You look tough."

Draco flinched as the swab touched his brow, the peroxide burning his cut even as it cleansed.

"Doesn't look like it needs stitches," Vincent said as he worked. "Which is good, because we're running low on sutures. I'd like to go back to the hospital to get some, but Christabella…well, we can't risk it yet."

"Why not?" Cybil stepped around behind Vincent and peeked into his bag. "You don't have much of a first aid kit here."

"Ah, I knew you could talk." Vincent smiled, the stubble on his jaw rendering him drawn and wasted. "What about you, kid?" he asked, addressing Draco. "Can you talk to?"

"Yes, of course," Draco grunted.

"English boy? Jesus, what are you doing here?"

"We told Christabella," Cybil replied defensively. "I was escorting him back to the Brahms station when we crashed."

Vincent raised a brow, tossing the dirty swab onto the table. "All right, take it easy. You don't owe me any explanation. Can you get me a band aid, officer? Thanks." He ripped the paper off the bandage and stuck it neatly across Draco's cut. "You know, you two are damn lucky. Most people who get stuck outside even for a half hour end up in much worse shape than this. Short a limb or two, huh. Strange."

"Humph, lucky." Cybil allowed him to clean the scrape on her chin, though she refused a band aid. "You didn't answer my question. Why can't you go to the hospital?"

Vincent frowned as he rummaged through his bag. "Shit, I'm all out of my tetanus shots."

"Why?"

"Just not a place a fellow likes to go," Vincent replied at length, keeping himself occupied with his supplies. "Sorry. I hope you didn't run into any rusty nails."

Draco suddenly remembered the rusty door knob he still had in his pocket. Did he dare ask Vincent about the Dark Mark?

He touched his forehead gently, feeling around the band aid. "Uh, what's up the whole snake and skull thing?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage. "We saw it on a couple of the buildings. Is it a family crest or something?"

Vincent seemed glad for the distraction. He nodded readily. "Sorta. Christabella knows the whole meaning of it. The town forefathers, they umm, adopted it as their insignia. Something about the righteous devouring the wicked, you know, the pure man swallowing the treacherous serpent."

"Oh yeah," Draco replied. "I thought I saw it written somewhere."

"The symbol's been used elsewhere, to the best of my knowledge," Vincent continued, "though only amongst….amongst the wizarding folks. Not that Silent Hill has had any contact with them. We're not supposed to, really."

"Wizarding?" Draco played dangerously dumb. He noticed Cybil shifting uncomfortably.

"Eh, don't trouble yourself with it," Vincent said, waving his hand indistinctly. "It's what got this town into such a damn mess in the first place, it…" But then he broke off, as if realizing that he had said too much.

A space of uneasy silence followed. Vincent snapped his bag shut and sank wearily into one of the chairs. Picking up the empty can of tomato soup, he scowled with distaste.

"You know, you two are the first to ever really enter Silent Hill in years. There've been a few incidents in the past, but mostly we just found the bodies after. The, uh, the demon must like you, to let you live so long."

"I have no idea what you people are talking about, all this demon nonsense," Cybil said tersely. "Cause we didn't see any demon, least not the one you're talking about, I think."

"Well, you wouldn't now, would you?" Vincent rubbed his jaw slowly. "The demon doesn't walk around in plain sight, it…it stays in the hospital."

"Ah." Cybil flashed a satisfied smile. "So now I see why the hospital is off limits."

"Under Christabella's orders, anyway," Vincent shrugged. "Though I'm not sure how she got to be in charge." He stopped himself and set the soup can down. "We've all but given up," he muttered under his breath, "trying to find a way out. It's been twenty goddamn years. You know…you know if ya'll were willing, cause you ain't got nothing to lose, you might make your way over to the hospital. Nothing to lose, right?" he repeated, a nervous grin pulling his lips taut.

Cybil and Draco shared a glance.

"You're asking us to risk our lives for you lot?" Draco replied coldly, although in truth, he was more than eager to flee the confines of the church.

"Why don't you grow a pair of balls yourself, then?" Cybil spat, squaring her shoulders.

Vincent squirmed under the sudden heat of her anger.

"You got me all wrong," he said and then he paused, glancing once over his shoulder at the open dining room door. "Hold on a sec."

He crossed the room quickly, pulled the door closed and then turned to stare at them.

"All right," he mumbled, wiping his fingers across his lips. "I shouldn't be doing this, helping you. I'm on thin ice with Christabella and the Flock as is, but God, I can't stand it anymore. It isn't my fault that we're trapped here. Hell, I was just twenty-five when it all happened. She was the one who angered the demon after all, poked the snake with a stick, if you will."

Vincent's sharp eyes darted between Cybil and Draco. "Do you get what I'm saying here? I think ya'll have a chance. The demon must want you here and Christabella knows it. She's unsettled enough already. Just give them a little time. Soon, there'll be questions and accusations and well, you know what comes next. Don't wait for that it happen."

Draco suppressed a violent shudder. Yes, he knew what would happen. Ash and smoke. Embers and flames.

And screams.

"Cybil," he said softly, half-turning in his chair.

But the cop was chewing on her lip. "How do I you're not lying?" she asked Vincent. "Could be you just want us out of here, less mouths to feed."

"Officer, I don't give a shit, having you here." Vincent raised his hands, taking up a pacifying stance. "I'm just trying to warn you. Don't think a roof over your head will keep you safe. You're not the first ones they've burned."

This time, Draco visibly winced. There it was, that word. Proof. He forced himself to his feet.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Draco." Cybil started towards him.

"He's right," Draco replied. "I'm going to the hospital, Cybil. I can only help myself at this point. You don't have to come, if you don't want to. I understand-"

The door to the dining room clicked open, admitting Christabella and two tall, skinny men of the Flock.

Vincent immediately busied himself amongst his first aid kit. "We're almost out of sutures," he said, wincing slightly when Christabella touched his shoulder.

"Then we'll have to make do," she told him. "Have you seen to our guests?"

"He has," Draco said, massaging the band aid on his brow. "We're fine."

A hint of a tight smile pinched Christabella's face as she surveyed Cybil and Draco. "Please pardon our humble offerings. We can barely sustain ourselves these days."

Draco hesitated a moment, his mind working furiously. Did he dare to be so bold? In the end, the threat of fire bolstered the very last of his courage.

"Let me repay your hospitality," he offered. "You've used up some of your scanty medical supplies on me. I'll go to the hospital and scavenge for more. It's the very least I can do."

From somewhere by his right, he heard Cybil shift her feet uneasily.

Christabella's expression, however, remained neutral.

"You are too kind," she said lightly, the shadows from the lanterns swinging wildly as her companions lifted them from the table. "But perhaps you do not realize the danger you would be in. We have shunned the hospital for fear of the demon. It makes its home in the very bowels of the building. The Darkness gathers its strength there."

"We'll both go," Cybil interjected suddenly.

Draco did not look at her, but experienced a sudden surge of gratitude mingled with regret. This poor Muggle was willing to risk her life for him. Why? The Flock was no danger to her. Bloody Hell, she could even reveal him as a wizard and watch him burn for kicks.

But she didn't.

Cybil seemed to sense his confusion, for she added, "It's my job to protect and I'll do what I can to help."

Christabella folded her hands across her middle and was silent for a moment. "No," she said at length. "I cannot allow anyone, especially strangers, to interfere with the demon. Our situation is unstable even now."

"But it'll be our doing, not yours," Cybil pressed, seeming desperate for the first time. "And maybe we can find a way out…out of Silent Hill. We could help you if you'd let us."

Once more, Christabella fell silent. She gestured for her companions to leave and they left the lanterns by the door, plunging them into a curious half-darkness.

Vincent hesitated before gathering up his bag and making his exit, although when he came to the threshold, he nodded encouragingly to both Draco and Cybil.

"For twenty years," Christabella said, once they were alone, "I have kept the Flock safe. Who are we to risk our only sanctuary for strangers?"

Draco was about to respond, but he was stopped when Christabella raised a thin hand.

"And yet, our safety dwindles everyday. Food and supplies are scarce. How much longer can we survive? Perhaps you are the saviors we have waited for. I suppose I am being pressed to decide, but I cannot do it now." She dropped her hands to her sides, though Draco noticed a slight tremble in her fingers. "We will shelter you until I have made my decision."

Christabella turned to leave, but then seemed to think better of it and approached them once more.

"I do hope you will both be wise enough to accept my judgment," she said, pronouncing the last word with a chilling flair, "for if the demon does not stop you from entering its domain, the Flock certainly will."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Vincent is based on another Silent Hill character of the same name, though in this fic, he is more of a meshing of Dr. Kaufman and the aforementioned Vincent.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read!

_[1] Excerpt from "Comfortably Numb" performed by Pink Floyd. Written by Roger Waters and David Glimour. _


	14. Chapter Fourteen Sacrifice

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Fourteen Sacrifice**

_She took my hand and I let her go_

_She broke her little bones_

_On the boulders below_

_Took my hand and she ended it all. [1]_

They were given two cots up in the attic of the church. It was an uncomfortable, drafty space cluttered with moldy pallets and wrinkled, smelly clothes. Draco and Cybil, however, were glad for the solitude and retreated to the attic before any of the Flock could trail after them. Together, they dragged their steel cots over to an empty corner and sat hunched over the stained mattresses.

Draco offered Cybil a cigarette.

"I shouldn't," she said, but took it anyway.

They smoked for a minute in silence.

"My mum would kill me," Draco said, as the embers glowed temptingly close to his knuckles.

"Your mom?" Cybil cocked a brow, the tense line of her shoulders softening.

The notion of family seemed like a far-off ideal in their living nightmare.

Draco smiled, remembering his mother, her clean, crisp robes, her neat hair, the dab of vanilla perfume she always wore on her wrists.

"She's in France now, with my father," he said. "They're good parents. My mum was always strict, wipe your feet when you come in, dress for dinner. My dad was…indulgent. He…"

"Spoiled you?" Cybil supplied. She blew out a stream of smoke and watched it curl upwards to the shadowy rafters.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." Draco flicked his ash on the floor. "What about you? Have any family? Any kids? Married?"

She looked down at her shoes and slowly kicked them off, bringing her legs up underneath her on the cot. "Nah. Just me and my mom. She's retired, lives in Brahms. My dad died when I was just a kid. He had a grocery store."

Draco didn't reply. A grocery store in a small town. He was surprised to find the notion charming. Generally, anything relating to Muggles disgusted him.

But Cybil was a Muggle and she didn't disgust him. How many times had she saved his life in Silent Hill? And how many times had he saved hers?

Like it or not, they had been working togther and Draco was unaccustomed to banding with others, be they wizards or Muggles. At Hogwarts, he had lorded over his year, the established hierarchy of his house lifting him above the likes of Crabbe and Goyle.

And now he was sitting across from a Muggle cop, sharing a smoke.

Was this his purgatory? His punishment for promoting Pureblood supremacy? Sure, Silent Hill was close enough to Hell as he had ever come, but Cybil herself was no devil.

She was a good woman. Brave, smart and trustworthy.

_Trustworthy?_

Yes, he trusted a Muggle.

A low, sardonic laugh made his lips twitch. What would Potter and his pals think when they found out he had been chumming around with Cybil? Well, _if_ they found out.

An unrelenting wave of fear struck him. Forget about Potter. No one might ever hear from him again. What if he was truly stuck here like the Flock? What if he never saw his parents again?

Ice filled his veins and Draco began to shiver.

Cybil frowned, leaning forward as she put out her cigarette.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," he grunted, fiddling with his lighter. "I'm fine."

"They didn't give you a blanket," she said, shifting forward on her cot. "Here, take mine." She tried to hand him the ratty thing.

"It's fine, really."

"No, take it. I probably won't sleep anyway. One of us has to stay awake."

Draco stared as she laid it on his cot. He couldn't comprehend this, concern and care without motive, without reward.

But perhaps someday he would.

At the very least, he was closer to understanding than he had been before coming to America.

"You should get some rest," Cybil told him. "I'll keep watch. I'm used to working the night shifts anyway."

"If you're sure," Draco said, settling back on his cot. The springs jutted into his back. He finished his cigarette and tossed her the rest of the pack and the lighter.

"Keep them," he said. "I don't want them anymore."

* * *

Sleep came more easily than Draco had expected. Within an hour, he had dozed off and he only woke when Cybil began to shake his shoulder.

She looked terrible. Exhausted.

"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up slowly. His spine ached from the crooked metal bars supporting his mattress.

"It's morning, I think," she said.

All around him, Draco noticed the attic was now packed with the rest of the Flock. Most were still sleeping, though a few lay fitfully on their cots, staring at the ceiling.

Three men were awake and standing up, along with Christabella, who approached them from the head of the staircase.

When she was near enough to them to not disturb the others, she leaned over their cots and whispered, "I have spent the night in contemplation. My mind is made up. Please, come downstairs to the church."

She left as quickly as she had came, disappearing down the stairs into the main space of the sanctuary. The men remained, clearly there to insure the guests did as requested.

Cybil tried to give Draco a steadying smile, but she looked gaunt.

"I'm sure it's good news," she said.

Draco could not reply. His mouth was drier than burnt wood. Slowly, he and Cybil made their way downstairs, the men right behind them.

The church below was completely empty except for Christabella. She stood at the altar, looking too much like a high priestess in her starched blue dress. With her hands folded neatly in front of her, she waited until they had assembled in the first pew before speaking.

"There is no reason for me to leave you in anticipation," she said quietly. "I have decided to permit you to visit the hospital. Myself and several members of the Flock will lead you there, but you alone are responsible for your safety from there on. If, by some utter quirk of fortune, you encounter the demon, you are not to speak for the Flock, only yourselves. We are not to be mentioned and I advise you to answer no questions the demon asks you. It is a wicked being, full of treachery. Do not trust it."

Christabella paused, her eyes narrowing. "If you make it back to the church, you will be permitted to enter. However, I still have not decided whether we shall offer you shelter long-term."

"Well, we don't expect to be here long-term, do we?" Cybil put in.

Christabella smiled at her sympathetically. "As you say."

* * *

The Flock was not well-armed, having only lead pipes to use as weapons, along with an odd hammer and axe. Cybil alone had a gun and Draco kept the pilfered wand hidden deep in his pocket, lest Christabella, with her hawk eyes, notice it.

They set off from the church with five men as guards. Christabella, surprisingly, insisted on coming and as she stepped out into the fog-shrouded streets of Silent Hill, she carried herself with unnerving composure.

Draco kept his gaze locked on her as she led them east from the church down an avenue. Ungainly, plodding footsteps produced abnormal echoes as they bounced off the empty buildings. Shops soon gave way to a more residential district and after a block or two, the houses thinned.

An abandoned park with broken swings, a rusty slide and a cracked stone fountain rose up to their right, concealing the long, curved drive that stretched up the hospital.

There was an old ambulance parked by the curb, its back doors thrown open and a gurney toppled onto its side.

The hospital itself was one of those monstrous, turn-of-the century brick buildings, Victorian and brooding in appearance. Narrow windows on the upper floors exuded a sense of hopelessness and Draco shivered as he imagined gaunt patients gazing out onto the cheery playground once upon a when.

True to Christabella's warning, the hospital seemed to be the center of the wickedness that had taken hold of Silent Hill. Angry, watchful shadows darkened dusty corners.

It took two of the men to force open the doors, which had been barred with crooked pieces of steel and wood. Once open, Christabella fearlessly led them within, stopping by the crumbling reception desk with a daunting smile.

"Proceed with care," she whispered, a silencing finger pressed to her thin lips. "We are in the demon's domain now. Can you not feel it?"

And indeed, the floor was unusually cold, making Draco shift his feet nervously. The stench of stale smoke burned his throat, though from what he could tell, there were no flame marks on the walls.

Christabella pointed to the main lobby where cobwebbed chairs sat like sentinels. Three of the Flock's men moved towards the far wall and began to work furiously at a set of steel doors.

Draco looked quickly at Cybil. _What do we do now_, he wanted to say, but the cop was staring straight ahead.

Christabella stepped forward and laid a hand on Draco's shoulder.

He tried to pull away, but her fingers found the hood of his jumper and stayed there.

"The demon resides in the basement of this building," she said. "The stairs to the lower level have been destroyed. You'll have to climb down the elevator shaft."

"Are you up for that?" Cybil asked Draco.

He nodded, shrugging Christabella's hand off his back. In all honesty, he had no idea what an elevator was.

After a few minutes of struggling, the men wrenched the steel doors open. Cybil approached them, peeked her head inside and clicked on her flashlight.

"It doesn't look that far," she said, beckoning to Draco.

He joined her by the doors and found himself staring down into a rectangle pit which Cybil's light just barely illuminated. Thick cables ran from up above into the abyss.

Draco grimaced with uncertainty.

Cybil seemed to share his reluctance. "Are you sure the cables will hold our weight?" she asked, turning to one of the men standing nearby.

He never responded.

Jerking forward, his jaw slackened and from his throat gurgled inarticulate sounds of pain. Convulsing, he slumped to his knees, a scalpel buried in his back.

One of the men groaned in horror.

Draco swung around just as Cybil's flashlight grazed over a tall, thin figure. A woman, he thought at first, but then he saw that the creature's face was hideously deformed in a strange melding of flesh that allowed for no eyes and nose.

Slashed lips parted in a horribly feminine wail as the thing moved forward, a violent twitching directing its moves.

"The light!" another of the men screamed. "Turn out your light!"

Cybil switched off her flashlight, but she didn't have time to step to the side and avoid a blow from the creature's scalpel. A thin line of blood appeared on her cheek and she nearly tipped into the elevator shaft in shock.

"Hold on!" Draco cried and he reached out, grabbing Cybil and pulling her away from danger. They both tumbled to the floor in a crash of arms and legs.

The creature limped mindlessly over to them, one arm flailing so wildly that Draco wondered if the limb was boneless.

He gasped when he saw that the body of this monster was indeed that of a woman dressed in the hideous, mottled uniform of a Muggle nurse.

Cybil was on her feet before he was and she fired a single round into the creature's chest.

The nurse shrieked, flopping to the floor with a fish-like squelch as she died.

In an instant, three more were upon them.

Christabella and the men from the Flock had retreated behind the reception desk in fear for their lives, leaving Draco and Cybil to struggle, outnumbered, with the monsters.

"Come on." Cybil hoisted him to his feet.

Just as Draco gained his balance, a nurse lunged at him and he threw his torso back to dodge her fatally sharp scalpel. He felt the breeze of it skim his belly.

Cybil grabbed the nurse's arm and twisted it back, discharging her firearm once more into the creature's neck. But she was already surrounded by the other two, trapped once more with her back to the elevator shaft.

One of the nurse's grabbed her shoulder, pulled her off balance and angled her scalpel straight for Cybil's jugular.

Draco didn't hesitate. Plunging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out the wand and pointed it at the creature.

"_Confringo!_" he screamed and a roaring jet of fire burst forth from his wand. It caught both the nurses in one blast and Cybil managed to wheel around in time to let them topple back into the shaft.

A second later a loud thud sounded, followed by the final crackle of the dying fire.

They both stood there panting, Cybil with blood pouring down her cheek and Draco _with a wand in his hand_.

Trembling, Christabella fled the safety of the reception desk.

"Witches," she whispered, as if half-believing the word. "Witches. I…I knew it. That's why the demon let them in, they're witches."

In a flash, Cybil had pushed Draco behind her.

"Witches," Christabella continued, on hand now raised and pointing at them with Puritanical ferocity. "Don't let the witches go down! Stop them!"_[2]_

She was joined by the four remaining men, all clutching their lead pipes with sudden relish.

Cybil suddenly began to push Draco back to the elevator.

"What are you doing?" he shouted as he felt the edge under his feet.

"Jump for the cables," she ordered, her gun now raised, pointing at Christabella. "Jump, Draco!"

Awkwardly, he turned around, reached out his hands for the cables and leapt. For a horrifying moment he dangled, slipping down a few inches before he got a better grip and steadied himself.

"Come on!" he cried to Cybil.

She glanced back at him only once. "Get out of here."

Turning to Christabella, she fired her gun, but the chamber clicked.

She had no bullets left.

It happened quickly. Once the men realized Cybil was out of ammo they fell on her with animalistic cries, their pipes raised high over their heads.

Draco saw her try to get her nightstick out of her belt, but she didn't have the time. Instead, she reached around and shoved the elevator doors shut, leaving him in total darkness.

A series of drawn-out grunts sounded and then he heard a sharp, cracking sound which left him nauseous.

"Cybil!" he screamed, groping with one hand for his wand.

He couldn't…he couldn't just leave her here.

But then the cable he was clinging to jerked downwards and he clung to it in terror. Without warning, it slackened and sent him careening down to the basement of the hospital.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Four more chapters left! Hmm, I'm really going to miss this story once it's finished. It's been so much fun to write.

As always, I would like to thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers. Your continued support means so very much to me.

Chapter Fifteen should be posted soon. Take care!

_[1] Taken from "Lie, Lie, Lie" by Serj Tankian_

_[2] Taken from the Silent Hill film (2006) directed by Christopher Gans, screenplay by Roger Avary. _


	15. Chapter Fifteen The Truth

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Fifteen The Truth**

_Please don't leave me here in the dirt_

_Reach to me your hand_

_Help me clean these dirty wings_

_I am so terribly hurt [1]_

Vincent was inspecting the last of his medical supplies in the communal dining room when Christopher came for him.

"Christabella needs to see you. Now," the man said, folding his arms across his chest, one hand still gripping a lead pipe that dripped fresh blood.

Vincent dropped the sutures he was holding back into his bag, his fingers trembling. "What for?"

"You know."

Oh God. Something must have happened with the English kid and the cop on the way to the hospital. Why had he been stupid enough to tell them about the place?

_Because they're our only hope._

Vincent grimaced. Hope. He had never liked the word, even when he was a young medical student working as an x-ray tech at the Silent Hill hospital before the fire. That had been twenty years ago, before it was discovered that Alessa Gillespie was the first child in the town to be born with magic in over a century. And like their forefathers before them, Christabella, the matriarch, had demanded purification.

Purification. Now _there_ was a word he hated.

Vincent rose slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he told Christopher, forcing his quavering voice into a tone of flippancy. "But if Christabella needs to see me, well…whatever."

It didn't matter anyway. Long ago, he had given up the dream of preserving his life beyond this purgatory. Vincent had tried only once before to leave Silent Hill when he and his younger brother had taken off for the hospital to find the demon. After that night, he never left the safety of the church again.

His brother wasn't quite so lucky.

Christopher marched him without delay straight out of the dining room up into the church and through to the old kitchen.

Vincent knew the moment he entered the room that his life was over. Christabella stood there awaiting him, wearing not her prudish starched blue dress, but a set of silk robes.

Her ritual robes.

They were meant to mock the traditional garb of wizards and donned only for one particular ceremony…a burning.

He felt his heart slam against his chest as Christopher forced him down into a chair before Christabella.

The shrew watched him, her eyes indiscernible, her face soft and calm.

Vincent did not trust her demeanor. The woman was insane.

"I gave you a second chance," Christabella said at length, her voice gentle, that of a mother. "After you strayed from the Flock the first time and sent your brother to contact the demon. I forgave you. We all did."

"My brother went to the hospital for medicine!" Vincent spat back at her.

Christopher laid a hand on his shoulder, his strong fingers digging into muscle.

"You told those people to go, didn't you Vincent? You led the witches to the demon?"

"What…witches? The cop and the kid? Jesus, Christabella."

Suddenly her eyes hardened, a flash betraying her inner rage. "The boy did magic. He is a wizard and you knew it. Now he will find the demon…now you have damned us all!"

Christopher clenched Vincent's shoulder harder, his nails bringing blood to stain pale skin.

"I didn't tell them anything," Vincent choked, surprised by the sudden tears that made his vision blurry.

Vaguely, he saw Christabella draw close to him, her iron form blocking out the light from the single bulb.

"You did," she said. "And I forgive you for it, Vincent. The Flock forgives you."

Forgiveness. Vincent felt his heartbeat slow to a death knell. He knew what she meant by forgiveness.

Christopher pulled him out of the chair and pushed him to the door, one arm pinned painfully behind his back.

And as Vincent was lead to his death, the last words he heard were Christabella's.

"Bring me Dahlia."

* * *

Draco lay still in the darkness, his chest aching, bruised and broken. Fetid steam drifted about him, vapors from this bowel of hell he had fallen into. Overhead, the broken elevator cables dangled limply in the shaft.

He shut his eyes and moaned in pain, one trembling hand pressed over his abdomen, the other cast to the side, still clenching the wand.

_I'm dying_.

The pain was too great. Searing. It stole his breath, mocked him as he lost control and screamed aloud. He thrashed about, wounded, animalistic in his terror.

_Let it come quickly. Let the end come._

He was ready for death and, as the minutes dragged by, he began to thirst for it.

_Save me. Won't someone save me?_

Draco felt the prayer form on his lips. "Help me."

"I will."

The reply came to him as a dream, the voice of some fae creature borne upon the last thread of consciousness. But then he felt cool, soothing hands on his brow, tendrils of soft hair brushing the tears from his cheeks.

"Poor lost boy," the voice said. It was a child who spoke. A girl.

And in his agony, Draco could only think of her.

_Alessa._

Carefully, she took the wand from his hand, pressing the tip of it to his shattered ribs. Spells were murmured, monosyllabic things. Even through the haze of pain, Draco noted their peculiarity.

This magic, this force, was frighteningly powerful.

A warm wave broke over his chest, mending the bones, restoring air to his lungs. The hands moved to his neck, braced him and pushed him into a sitting position.

He opened his eyes and found himself sitting not in the black, dilapidated basement of the hospital, but in a clean, bright room. The floor was bright with white tiles, the walls washed and freshly painted. A vase with two daisies sat next to an empty hospital bed on a nightstand.

And in the corner, seated on a small chair, was the girl.

The girl that had haunted him, that had both followed and led him through the streets of Silent Hill.

She looked as she had in the old photograph. Her face was small and pale, her hair the color of ebony. But it was her eyes, mimicking innocence, that horrified Draco the most.

He choked, a sob escaping him. "Alessa Gillespie?"

The child smiled. "I am only part of her."

"I don't understand."

Alessa stood and reached out one tiny hand. "May I have my diary please, Draco?"

He blinked rapidly and then remembered the notebook he had taken from Dahlia's house. Slowly, he reached into the pocket of his stained jumper and produced it.

Alessa smiled. "Thank you. It will make things easier for us."

"How do you mean?" Draco could only disguise the fear in his voice with stubborn defensiveness.

"You'll see."

Alessa opened her diary and the pages flipped over by themselves. The stench of burning paper filled the tiny room, overwhelming him in a few short seconds.

Draco coughed, his eyes stinging.

Alessa let go of the diary and left it floating in midair. To his shock, a small figure appeared from out of the pages and hovered above the book.

"It's a pensieve!" he gasped, dumbfounded.

Alessa nodded fervently and pointed at the figure. It was herself, in the same starched blue dress. Other images evolved from the pages, flickering.

Draco saw Alessa standing in her classroom at Midwich Elementary, staring in horror at her desk over which was scrawled. "Witch".

The scene changed, showing her cowering in the hallway as a group of students pelted her with crumpled up papers.

"_Witch! Witch!" _The children chanted, their cries strangely unison.

"Did you see how Alessa was tormented?" The life-size Alessa said. "Did you see how all the other children were frightened of her and the adults jealous? They wanted her magic, but had none for themselves."

"A town of squibs," Draco echoed, recalling Christabella's words.

"Alessa was the only one with powers. The only one to be born with the skill of her sires."

The schoolchildren and Alessa vanished, only to be replaced with a beautiful young woman standing on the porch of a quaint house. Draco recognized the building and after a moment of scrutiny, the woman's face took the shape of a familiar shade.

Dahlia.

"Dahlia was alone in Silent Hill," Alessa continued, as the images hovered before her. "But she had loved a man who was a wizard. And when she had his daughter, the whole town knew what Alessa was…a witch."

The vision of the young Dahlia faded and Christabella's accusing face came into view.

"_Why won't you name the father?" _she asked hostilely, speaking to someone Draco could not see. _"Everyone knows what your daughter is, Dahlia, what she's capable of. No one has dared to bring magic amongst our town in centuries. She must be purified of it."_

"Witches aren't allowed in Silent Hill," Alessa said as Christabella's visage evaporated. "And those that come here are purified. Blackened."

Now the Grand Hotel came into view. Draco followed the flashing images, watching as a group of townspeople gathered somberly in the lobby with Dahlia and Alessa. They were taken to the second floor, to room 217.

Draco wanted to shut his eyes. He knew what was coming next.

"Do you remember the hotel?" Alessa asked him. "I led you to all these places. _[2]_ I showed you what happened in Silent Hill twenty years ago, who started the fire. You were smart, Draco. You understood."

Draco watched as Dahlia was forcibly separated from Alessa, the mother screaming, her long blond hair wild as she fought with the men who restrained her.

"_My baby!" _she screamed. _"My baby! Don't hurt my baby!"_

The portrait hole leading to room 217 swung open and Alessa was dragged inside.

"Bloody hell." Draco tried to turn away, but he couldn't.

Alessa suddenly laughed, her eyes glittering with unexpected relish. "But they didn't know," she intoned. "They didn't understand like you do, Draco."

Draco looked on as the members of the Flock tried to tie Alessa to the stake in that cursed room. But then something happened.

The powerful magic Alessa had held dormant for so long came to life, feeding on her fear.

In a perilous instant, she set the fiendfyre curse on the Flock.

He watched as the uncontrollable ball of flame began to devour the room, leaving the men screaming, fleeing…like Goyle. And the fire spread, fast, hungry and soon the town was ablaze.

The image faded in a puff of grey smoke.

"The magic was too strong for even Alessa," the child said. "And she only hurt herself. When it was over, her mother found her and took her here, to the hospital. But Alessa was already hurt and scared. And when you're hurt and scared for so long, the fear and pain turns to hate, and the hate starts to change the world." _[3]_

Now the old diary shook violently, worn pages separating from the flimsy binding and falling to the floor like broken wings. After a moment, the entire book crashed to the floor, useless. The stench of burnt wood and ashes and seared flesh hit Draco full force.

He doubled over, clutching his stomach, retching.

Alessa appeared unaffected.

"You understand, Draco," she repeated. "You know what it's like to be hated, to be an outcast. Alessa knew it too, but her soul was too innocent to bear such pain. And that's when I came."

"What are you?" Draco rasped, his throat raw. Through bleary, tear-stained eyes, he saw the child-like figure approach him.

"I am the part of her soul that survived. The part that was strong enough to create this nightmare and trap the Flock within it."

Quickly, Draco gained his feet, drawing away from her. The room reverberated with restrained magic, the air becoming taut and charged.

Voldemort had spilt his soul, but he was a wizard of horrible power. This…this piece of Alessa was young. How could she have wrought such dark spells on her own?

"It's simple," the girl said suddenly, her eyes flashing as she seemed to read his thoughts. "There is no greater sin than darkening the heart of an innocent. Didn't you feel it? The power in the room 217? The pain? It only took one person with magic to ensnare it."

"You…" Draco sputtered, his back now pressed against one of the white walls. "You did all this? The monsters? The changing town? Everything?"

"I had to," Alessa replied. "I had to make them see. For twenty years I've kept them here, waiting for someone to help me. The dormant magic of the Flock bars me from their church, but you, Draco, can bring me inside. You are a wizard. With your help I can end it all. I can have my revenge."

"God," Draco bleated. His mind was numb with the impossibility of it all.

But Alessa's smile only widened. She reached out a small hand and touched his scratched fingers. "I opened the door to Silent Hill just for you. Only we can end it now."

"How?" he muttered, afraid of the answer.

"You must bring my wand into the church," she said slowly, grasping his hand tighter. "And you must sacrifice one of the Flock. Then the wards will be lowered."

Draco wrenched his hand from hers, appalled. "You want me to murder someone for you?"

"They tried to do the same to me," Alessa replied sensibly. "Do you know how many wizards they've burned? Do you know what they've done?"

But Draco was beyond the insanity of it all. Whirling around, he faced the wall and stared at it blankly.

"This isn't my fight."

A moment of silence passed. Alessa sighed behind him. "But you can be satisfied, Draco, you can have your revenge."

"I don't want it."

"You do. On all the Muggles and Mudbloods that have wronged you. And you want to see your mother again. I can make that happen if you'll help me."

Unbidden, a fleeting image of his mother passed through Draco's mind. He shut his eyes tightly and willed it away.

"I can't kill anyone."

Alessa was suddenly in front of him, her arms clasped around his waist. "You will," she said softly. "Or you will burn."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you.

_[1] Excerpt taken from "The Last Piece of Cake" by Hannah Fury_

_[2] and [3] These lines were taken from the Silent Hill film (2006) screenplay by Roger Avary. _


	16. Chapter Sixteen The Burning

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Chapter Sixteen The Burning**

_And you will burn, you will burn._

_We will purify your soul, in the fire, in the fire_

_It will rise, it will rise_

_From the ashes and the embers in your eyes, in your eyes [*]_

* * *

Blood pulsed against Cybil's skull. She counted her heartbeats.

_One, two, three, four, five, six._

She tried to open her eyes, but her lids fluttered, glued together with a sticky substance. Cybil counted her measured inhalations.

_One…two…three…four…five…six._

An ache grew in her chest, becoming persistent, torturous.

She opened her mouth to scream. Blood rushed in, choking her. Her teeth were jagged and broken.

Cybil groaned and spat up a mouthful of red-tinged bile. She tried to think over the pain which was now shooting down from her chest into her legs.

_Move a toe_, she thought. _Please God, don't let me be paralyzed._

Once more, she tried to open her eyes and succeeded. She focused on her right shoe. Her leg jerked convulsively as she tried to move it, sending splinters of agony against her femur.

"Fuck."

Cybil tried to sit up, but her head was that of a doll's, limp and heavy. Blood crusted her left temple and formed a pattern of scratches across her cheeks.

How had this happened?

_An accident._

Yes, it had to be an accident. She'd crashed her squad car while chasing that kid into Silent Hill. Someone had pulled her from the wreck and now they were waiting for the ambulance.

_Waiting, waiting._

She would die waiting.

Cybil laid back and forced herself to relax. But something was off. She didn't recognize the unforgiving surface underneath her shattered body. It wasn't black-top or concrete, but wood. Wooden floorboards.

The memories swamped her, a veritable murder of ravens come to pick apart her brain and leave her insane.

She was trapped in Silent Hill with that kid…with Draco. They'd gone to the hospital….and….and she had pushed him down the elevator shaft to save his life.

But why would she do such a thing?

Pipes. Lead pipes. The only weapons the Flock had in their possession. They had used them to beat her within an inch of her life, calling her a witch.

And she had spared Draco from their wrath by pushing him down an elevator shaft. God only knew if he was still alive.

Cybil grunted, her mind squirming away from the pain. Well, perhaps they were both better off dead. There would be no salivation for them now, not in this hell.

_Poor Mom_.

She thought of her mother, a widow, alone in the world without her daughter. Mrs. Bennett had worried night and day when her only child joined up with the Brahms's Police Department. But Cybil had been reassuring.

_Don't worry, Mom. I'll be all right._

The city would pay for her funeral. Mom would get a nice pension and the consolation of Cybil's fellow officers. But she would never see her daughter again.

A lump formed in Cybil's raw throat, but she forced away the tears. Footsteps matched the ringing tempo assaulting her skull.

Footsteps and voices.

"Do not question me, Christopher. We have no choice."

"Christabella-"

"Silence. I will not hand this town over to the demon. We may have lost the boy, but it is still within our power to judge the woman."

With difficulty, Cybil rolled onto her side, panting. A sliver of light fell through a doorway a few feet away from her head. Squinting, she could just see outside into the main space of the church.

Members of the Flock were hard at work pushing back pews, clearing a space in the center of the building. As the benches were shifted, Cybil caught sight of a strange circle of blackened flagstones.

She blinked her eyes rapidly, struggling to make out the finer features. But then Christabella stepped in front of the doorway and blocked her view.

"We have no choice," she said, her voice hard, edged with a certain raggedness that made her sound old and bitter. "Judgment must be passed and only the righteous can deliver a fitting punishment. We are still pure, are we not?"

"But…" Christopher was clearly struggling. Cybil saw a flash of his face in the doorway. "She's a police officer. We cannot pass judgment against a woman of the law. It's too dangerous. What if we were found out?"

"She is not a woman of the law," Christabella snapped in response. She half-turned, giving Cybil her sharp profile. "She came to us in the guise of an innocent…just like the Dark One. We must stop this pestilence before it spreads. Vincent was already infected. Remember, Christopher, what happened to him?"

Christopher's expression was one of horror. Cybil recognized the blanching of his skin, the slackening of his jaw. It was so very akin to how she now felt.

And God, what were these horrible people planning to do to her?

"No more protests," Christabella said coldly. "We'll carry on as we have for centuries. Get the woman and bring her forth. Let her see what the righteous have wrought for her."

And even as Christabella spoke, the door was pushed fully open and three men strode into the room.

Roughly, they seized Cybil's arms and legs, making her scream in pain as they jolted her broken bones.

"Go on," one of them crowed. "Suffer, witch."

Cybil spat in his face. "You go to hell."

* * *

The shadow of the church fell over Draco. He stopped a half a block away from it, clenching and unclenching his fists . A grimace spread over his taut features.

"Don't be frightened," Alessa said, her cold, cold fingers brushing his sleeve.

Draco jerked away from her, afraid of her touch, afraid her poison would reach him.

Then he would be just like her.

"This isn't my fight," he repeated gruffly.

She blinked her reptilian eyes, some vestige of human emotion lighting their depths.

"The Mudbloods hurt you, Draco," she replied, "just like they hurt me. Don't you want to stop them?"

The question should have been an easy one. _Yes_, he wanted to answer. _Yes, I want to stop all this_.

But then he looked out over the haunted town of Silent Hill, the horror that Alessa herself had conjured with her vengeful magic. He felt almost as though he were being afforded a view of the future…had the Dark Lord survived and mastered the magical world.

The very notion was terrifying and Draco realized now that he wanted no part of it.

"It's…" He trailed off, shuffling his feet uselessly. All about them, the ash fell thickly, relentlessly, swallowing his hope and the very last of his freedom. "It's not right. I can't kill anyone."

"They would have killed you."

"It doesn't matter." Draco was surprised by his own words, even as he spoke them. He was being offered revenge, a chance to get even with those that had stripped him of his dignity, his worth, his very life.

Why was he refusing it?

Simple. It would be so simple. So easy to kill. He didn't know these people. He did not have to battle his conscience as he had over Dumbledore.

All he had to do was kill. _Kill._

Alessa trailed her fingers down to his hand. "Don't be frightened," she echoed. "I'll be with you."

Draco looked away from her. "No," he said. "I won't."

He felt her draw away and began to hope that the vicious wraith had left him forever. But then Alessa tugged at his jumper, her arm extended, an accusatory finger pointing at the steeple of the church.

"Look," she said, a hint of a dangerous smile lifting her bloodless lips. "There's smoke."

And indeed, a coil of black drifted up from the rooftop of the building, staining the moody grey sky.

Draco's heart leapt into his mouth. "Cybil."

* * *

They took her from the backroom and brought her to the center of the church. Cybil was victimized by their jeers, their mindless curses that meant so little…so very little.

"Witch! Burn the witch!"

"Suffer!"

"Burn her!"

She saw now that circular patch of stone floor had a sinister purpose. A stake had been fixed in the middle of it, with some of the pews having been hacked up to provide kindling.

Gasoline was splashed indiscriminately over the wood. A brazier had been set to the side.

"Wait!" she gasped, her body going limp as they lifted her up to the stake. Ropes soon snaked over her ankles, lashing her tight, binding her there. "Wait! Fuck, just wait!"

And when she was secure, the Flock was silent in their awe and rapture.

Christabella stepped forward.

"Those who aid the demon, they must be cleansed by the fire from whence they came!"_[1]_

Cybil recoiled from the woman's words, her head slamming against the stake. "You're crazy. Let…let me go!"

Christabella whirled on her victim, her blue robes flaring out, lending her a false sense of majesty. "We must pave the was to righteousness. We must do as our forefathers. Devour the snake! Burn the witch!"

"Oh God." Cybil felt the ropes cutting into her bruised flesh, but still she fought on. "Just think what you're doing. Think! Think!"_[2]_

But the Flock was cackling again, their faces slack, thoughtless.

Christabella turned towards the brazier, setting it alight with a single match. Dipping a torch into the flames, she lifted it aloft and presented it to Cybil.

"Burn the witch!"

The kindling was set ablaze. Smoke flew into Cybil's face, tormenting her with thoughts of mortality.

Through her shoes, she began to feel the promise of heat.

Throwing her head back, she lost sight of the Flock through the flickering haze. A final cry bled from her throat.

"Oh God! Oh Jesus Christ!"_[3]_

* * *

The doors to the church gave way under Draco's hands as he threw himself against them. A rush of smoke met him and he glared through it, suppressed rage thickening his veins with strength.

A man lunged at him.

Draco ducked, thrusting one fist squarely into his opponent's gut. He heard a satisfying grunt and followed it with a kick to the ribs. The man crumbled to the floor.

And then another was on him. Fingers laced around Draco's throat. Choking…choking.

He pushed out his last breath in a scream and threw back his head, shattering the assailant's teeth on his skull. Blood dripped down his cheeks.

He stumbled blindly in the smoke, reaching out to feel the pews. His fingers met with empty space.

"Stop him!" That was Christabella. She appeared in a whirl of blue and satin. Draco recognized her waxy features, her frizzy hair.

He reached out to seize her, to shake the life from her and make her suffer as he had. But then the rest of the Flock fell on him. A slap stung his face, bringing him to his knees. Someone dragged back his arms and he could have sworn he felt his shoulders pop from their sockets.

"Get off me! Get off me!" Draco kicked and bit and screamed.

But they had the better of him.

"The demon is in him!" Christabella shrieked. "Hold him! He must be purified. We must burn him!"

_The demon_. At the mention of Alessa, Draco went limp, dead as a stringless puppet. The hands on him tightened and carried him forward through the smoke until he stood before the congregation and Christabella.

Laughter erupted from his throat. "The demon?" he said. "There is no demon. Her name is Alessa Gillespie and you tried to burn her alive."

Christabella was standing in front of him, her tall, lean form obscuring a pile of slightly smoldering logs. "That child was a sorcerer."

"Like me," Draco flung back at her. "And you were jealous of her powers." Once more, he renewed his struggling and managed to wrench himself free from the grasp of the man who held him. "Look at yourselves!" he called, addressing the Flock at large.

They had gathered around him like menacing sheep, their graying jowls working furiously as they reviled him.

"There is no hope," he told them, watching as they cowered slightly. "Alessa will have her revenge. I've made sure of that."

In saying so, he whirled around, expecting to see the girl come wafting through the crowd like a sinister breeze.

But she was nowhere to be found.

_Don't be frightened. I'll be with you._

Draco swiveled in place, searching the church for her. Where was she? She had promised to help him…promised…promised.

Behind him, Christabella began to laugh. "Foolish boy, to believe the words of the Dark One, to trust yourself to the emptiness of her loyalty." A wicked smile made her face skull-like. "You will find only pain and suffering in the end."

She stepped to the side, letting Draco see what she had been concealing.

It was Cybil, or at least it had been. Tied to the stake. Burnt. Burnt to death.

And then he remembered what Alessa had told him.

_You must bring my wand into the church. And you must sacrifice one of the Flock. _

Kill, Draco had to kill.

And now, for the first time in his life, he found himself utterly capable of it.

Drawing Alessa's wand from his pocket, he pointed it at Christabella and cried, "_Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a roar and a jet of green light and Christabella, who had moved only to cover her face, lay dead at his feet.

The church rumbled ominously.

Silence.

He let his wand drop back to his side. The Flock stirred around him.

But there was silence. Silence.

Tiny electric shocks assaulted Draco's fingertips. He stretched them, feeling the joints crack and took a step forward towards Christabella. With his toe, he nudged her side.

Dead, she was dead.

A piece of his soul dried up and shriveled away. Draco leaned down and touched Christabella's face. It was still warm, the eyes open, glassy, staring up at the pyre above her. His gut clenched and he retched.

_Cybil._

Oh God, he had failed.

Thunder formed in the walls of the church and shook the building. Soot and dust fell free from the rafters, matching the raining ash outside. He heard women whimpering.

"The demon!"

"Someone save us!"

"God, the demon."

The stained glass window shattered. Draco recovered his senses enough to duck and he tripped backwards as the shards assaulted the Flock.

Draco shook the splinters of glass from his hair and stared through the gaping hole in the window out into the town of Silent Hill. The sky had shed its skin of grey and now churned black and vengeful. The ground beneath his feet split as flames leapt up, bringing Hell to the surface world one last time.

The Flock was thrown into chaos and they poured from the church, screaming as Alessa's creatures fell upon.

An animalistic cry of sorrow escaped Draco. Yes, it was he who had caused all this.

Suddenly, a tiny, warm hand slipped into his, swinging his arm playfully. Draco jerked away in shock and beheld the child Alessa standing by his side, smiling.

"Thank you, Draco," she said softly. "We can have peace now."

Outside, the steps of the church were becoming slick with blood.

"No," he howled, pulling his hand from her grasp. "No!" He glanced back at Cybil's burnt body one last time.

_Cybil, Cybil, I'm sorry!_

Fleeing from the church, he found Dahlia Gillespie huddled on the steps. She grabbed at his knees as he went by.

"Please," she gasped, "please take me away from here."

Draco turned on her with a snarl. "You're her mother."

Casting her off, he raised Alessa's wand and turned on the spot. A familiar squeezing sensation dragged him away from Silent Hill. In an instant, he found himself standing on the porch of his cottage beside Toluca Lake. The sun was just coming up over the horizon.

Draco collapsed and wept.

**

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**

Author's Note:

Well, there you have it. And for the record, I really, really, really did not want to kill off Cybil. Unfortunately, she dies in both the movie and the game series and in this story, her death was essential to the plot.

There is only one chapter left of this fic--an epilogue. I should have it posted by next week.

I would like to thank everyone who read this story, favorited it or reviewed. Your feedback and support truly means the world to me.

I hope you have a great week!

_[*] Taken from "You Will Burn" by Steeleye Span_

_[1] Taken from the Silent Hill film (2006) screenplay by Roger Avary_

_[2] and [3] Taken from the Wicker Man film (1973) screenplay by Anthony Shaffer_


	17. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

**Epilogue: The Brahms Courier **

_Please, please forgive me_

_But I won't be home again_

_Maybe someday you'll look up, and barely conscious_

_You'll say to no one, "isn't something missing?" [1]_

_4 months later-France_

Draco awoke to the sound of his mother descending to the first floor of the chateau. The click-clack of her sensible low-heeled shoes on the stairs told him that his parents were planning a walk later in the day. They would ask him to come along and he would decline, unable to trust the simple beauty of the French countryside, the rolling hills that were dotted with foliage.

Leaves. Leaves the color of blood.

Mumbling to himself, he kicked off his blankets, shivering as the chilly autumn air touched his bare flesh. He'd taken to sleeping in his boxers lately, which really wasn't a good idea, considering his nightmares brought his mother running into his room every night.

Shame colored Draco's cheeks crimson. He didn't much feel like a competent wizard with his parents hovering over him. They'd been overly cautious with him since St. Mungo's had released him to their care three months ago.

But he'd rather not think about that now.

Draco found a pair of jeans and a wrinkled button down shirt on a chair by the windows. Dressing in the bright morning light, he could listen to his parents chatting down on the veranda below.

A house elf was bringing them tea and some fresh cheese mother had bought from a local diary farmer last weekend.

"How was he last night?" Lucius Malfoy glanced at his wife over the rim of his china cup, his eyes obscured by steamy vapors.

"Better." Narcissa smiled despite the darks circles that ringed her eyes. "He's determined to wean himself off the sleeping draught, says he wishes to face the nightmares alone. Poor boy."

"But he has not said anything yet?" Lucius put down his cup with an impatient clatter.

"No. And we're not to push him. The healers--"

"Oh, bother the healers. Draco is our son, Narcissa. We deserve to know what happened to him at that…that place."

"Silent Hill."

Draco trembled when he heard his mother mention the name of the town. Whirling away from the window, he tripped on one of his shoes and tossed it angrily across the room. His parents were curious and he couldn't blame them for it. The Ministry had been considerably tight-lipped about his sudden return to Europe. They wanted to keep it out of the papers, just the American government did. But in truth, it was a downright mess.

After escaping from Silent Hill, Draco had run into Brahms and all but thrown himself at the mercy of the Aurors that had been sent to find him. They took him straight into custody, but were shocked as he babbled out his story of the haunted town and Alessa Gillespie and…Cybil…

He begged them to believe him and predictably, the Aurors had laughed him off…until Officer Cybil Bennett was reported missing by the Brahms Police Department. The American Office for Magical Law Enforcement quickly launched an investigation and upon entering Silent Hill, encountered the last fragments of Alessa's dying magic.

Draco was proven innocent as overwhelming evidence of the horrors in Silent Hill poured in. Those that had been counted as missing after the fire twenty years ago were discovered freshly killed. Draco himself confessed to killing Christabella, but was acquitted when it was shown that he had acted purely in self-defense in the face of being burned alive.

Alessa herself was not found, but her diary was confiscated from the basement of the hospital and sent to the highest offices of the American magical government were it was examined for traces of dark magic.

And finally, Cybil's body was recovered in the collapsing church and passed on, with all care, to her mother. The official Muggle ruling was a freak car accident and her wrecked squad car stood as a solid proof.

Draco, however, thought the excuse cheapened her heroism.

Needless to say, there was much embarrassment on the part of the American government who had unknowingly allowed a town to fall completely under dark magic. Further inquiries were launched to investigate the many burnings of the Flock.

Draco cooperated with the American officials and vowed to keep his story out of the papers. In exchange, he was returned to his parents in France after a brief stay at St. Mungo's in order to mend his shattered nerves.

And now that the horror was over, he was faced with life once more.

_Easier said than done_, he thought sourly to himself, as he left his room to join his parents for breakfast. He would never completely heal. Never. Mother seemed to recognize that already, although Father was unsure. Draco understood why. Lucius Malfoy had expected to get his son back, but the young man who now inhabited the château was a pale, sickly creature, who was silent during the day and cried at night when nightmares struck.

He had changed, more than he could have ever imagined possible.

Hesitantly, he left the house and stepped out onto the veranda, squinting as the sun slanted in his eyes.

"Draco, you're awake." Father glanced up from his breakfast with a tight smile.

"Darling, come sit." Mother beckoned him to the table with airy, graceful gestures.

Draco stumbled over to them and accepted the piece of toast that was put on his plate.

"Your Father and I were considering a walk to the ruined abbey," Mother said lightly as she poured his tea. "Won't you join us?"

"Maybe," Draco replied, speaking for the first time. He didn't have the heart to deny her outright when she was so good to him.

And with that he bowed his head, just so he wouldn't have to look at them and see their worry.

He couldn't face their questions…not yet.

Mother made a soft noise in the back of her throat. Draco heard Father shift in his chair.

"Let the boy alone," he whispered sternly.

"Lucius."

"Let him alone."

Draco shoved the toast in his mouth and chewed half-heartedly. He wasn't at all hungry, but Mother would pout and complain if he didn't accept food. At least once a day she would look at her son long and hard and comment on his weight loss.

Draco himself didn't think he looked any different. Tired, maybe, but that was from the nightmares. He had, however, overheard Father comparing him to a "stalked deer" once.

When he finished his toast, Mother handed him another piece. This one was slightly burnt and Draco gagged as the smell reached his nostrils.

_Burning, burning._

_Cybil, her skin, her face frozen by fire._

"Have some jam." Mother handed him a small pot of strawberry preserves.

Draco shook his head. "I'm all right."

He dared to look up at his parents. Father had brought a book of medieval poetry to the table and was flipping through it idly.

"I thought we could take a picnic lunch with us to the abbey," he said in a strained voice.

"That would be lovely," Mother commented.

Draco slapped some jam on his toast, jumping slightly when their house elf Libby trotted out onto the veranda with the mail.

"Master, yous is wanting your paper," she said, carefully handing Father a bundle which contained the _Daily Prophet_ and several letters.

Mother sighed to herself. Their correspondence was dwindling these days as old friends and acquaintances so readily forsook them.

And despite his own turmoil, Draco realized how isolated his parents were in France and how it pained them to be cut off from the society they once enjoyed.

A pang of guilt assaulted him and he resolved to be more attentive to their needs if possible.

Libby skirted around the table and moved back towards the kitchens, her neat tea towel dragging slightly on the stone floor of the veranda. Draco had always assumed that house elves were dumb creatures, industrious, but lacking any true intelligence or sensitivity.

Why, then, did Libby discreetly place a copy of the _Brahms Courier_ into his lap?

"This is coming for yous, Master Draco," the elf muttered and then hurried off to the house.

Draco glanced down at the paper, his stomach somersaulting as he saw Cybil's picture on the cover. True, he had secretly been getting the Muggle newspaper for a month now, but usually it was delivered sometime in the afternoon by owl, when his parents were out.

"What's that there?" Father asked over the front page of the _Prophet_.

"Paper from America," Draco grumbled in response. "I had a subscription while I was over there…must've forgotten to cancel it."

To his immense relief, Father accepted the explanation. Fifteen minutes later his parents rose from the table to freshen up before their walk. Draco, however, feigned hunger and stayed behind, slurping his tea.

Mother, of course, did not look convinced.

Once they had reentered the house, Draco unfolded the _Courier_ and held it up to his eyes. The headline jumped out at him.

**OFFICER BENNETT POSTHMOUSLY PROMOTED TO DETECTIVE**

_Brahms, West Virginia. Oct. 17. Yesterday afternoon, the Police Chief of Brahms announced his decision to promote the late Officer Cybil Bennett to detective. Officer Bennett was killed last July when she lost control of her squad car during a high-speed chase outside Silent Hill. She was pronounced dead on the scene and left behind her mother, the widowed Silvia Bennett. Her mother was on hand yesterday at the Police Station to accept her daughter's promotion._

_"Officer Bennett was an exemplary policewoman," Police Chief Bradley commented during the ceremony. "We can only hope to honor her memory with the rank of detective, a promotion she most certainly deserved…"_

Draco could no longer see the page. Tears blinded him and with difficulty, he swallowed a sob. Below the article was a picture of Cybil the day she had graduated from the Police Academy. Her mother was standing next to her, looking so proud…

"Draco." A gentle hand lit on his shoulder.

He started, but did not put the paper down. Turning around, he looked into his mother's eyes.

"Don't let your Father see you reading a Muggle newspaper," she said lightly.

Draco wiped furiously at his tears. "I won't…sorry, I just…"

"Who is she?" Mother was staring at the picture of Cybil, a hint of maternal intuition darkening her glance. "You knew her, Draco."

It was a statement, not a question. Draco nodded numbly. "She was a Muggle police officer."

"Was?"

"She died, Mother…to save me. They burned her alive in Silent Hill. I couldn't stop them. She's…she's dead."

The tears fell and he could no longer hide them. Mother squeezed his shoulder.

"Oh Draco."

"She was a Muggle," he continued hoarsely. "And she knew what I was. I didn't ask her to help me, but she did. Mother, why did they have to kill her?"

"I wish I knew." Mother touched the picture of Cybil with her fingertips.

"She was brave…she didn't care what they did to her, those people. I…I can't forget it."

"And you never will," Mother said. With the side of her soft hand, she brushed away her son's tears.

"But she was a Muggle," Draco said slowly. "I don't understand. _She was a Muggle!_"

Mother knelt by his chair and took the paper from his hands. "Draco, listen to me now. I don't know everything, I cannot explain what you witnessed…what happened to you in that town. I can only tell you that you must decide for yourself. Take from it what you will, or take nothing at all."

Draco listened to her. He knew Silent Hill had changed him, but just how much was up to his conscience.

"I want to send flowers…to her grave," he said at length.

Mother nodded. "Of course."

It was then that Father returned, his walking stick in hand. "Is he coming with us?" he asked, indicating Draco.

"I think so." Narcissa Malfoy smiled at her son.

"Yeah." Draco stood, careful to tuck the _Courier_ underneath his plate. "It might be nice."

Mother wrapped an arm around him. "There are some of lovely late-blooming flowers along the way to the abbey," she said. "We'll help you find them."

**The End.  
**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Gah! It's over. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Perhaps I shall do both.

I would like to thank everyone who stuck with this story.

Well, I'm afraid this is goodbye for now. If you've enjoyed "Trial by Fire" you might also like my other WIP "Willoway" which contains similar themes. Take care!

_[1] Taken from "Missing" by Evanescence._


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